


scheherazade

by 64907



Category: Arashi (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Yakuza, Assassination Attempt(s), Community: arashi_exchange, Explicit Sexual Content, Injury, M/M, Secrets, Smoking, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-22
Updated: 2016-09-22
Packaged: 2018-08-16 16:48:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 72,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8110036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/64907/pseuds/64907
Summary: Matsumoto Jun is a man with a mission when he finally assumes the role he’s been groomed for all his life. But there is someone who wants to do away with him and will stop at nothing until he’s out of the game for good.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gurajiorasu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gurajiorasu/gifts).



> I always wanted to work on a mafia/yakuza AU, but that plan was fast forwarded when Arashi Exchange happened. This is a very belated birthday present to Matsumoto “feelings” Jun—a yakuza and a mafia AU mashup in a totally made-up Japan. The activities and operations present in the story are probably not how the real yakuza works.
> 
> Huge, huge, huge thank you to learashi who spotted my mistakes, and to Angel who helped improve this story. If there are any mistakes left, they are all mine.
> 
>  **SPOILER ALERT:** despite the injury tag, no one important dies so there’s no need to worry.

Meetings had become an integral part of his life.  
  
There was always someone important, someone crucial he had to speak to in order to lay out one plan after another, to place a piece that would serve as a foundation towards an improvement, to something better, greater. Man is what he makes of himself, his father used to say. He had taken these words to heart, and with each carefully worded pleasantry exchanged with someone of influence, he had to remind himself of where he was, of what he had. Power is what you make it. Some had power handed to them, delivered, gift-wrapped even. Some had to take it. And yet there were those exceptional ones who had to do both, and that made those individuals ruthless and the most dangerous of them all.  
  
He was not like them, not entirely. He was where he was because of tradition—old but honored by his peers, revered by his subjects, and exalted by those beneath him. Despite the power that was passed on to him, he had to cultivate it, nurture its essence and utilize it in the proper time. Respect was something he’d earned, not received as a consequence of a timely death. The fear eventually came after he’d secured that his peers held him in high esteem, but not through the methods those around him would have undoubtedly preferred. Old men were always insistent on spilling blood, deeming it as a spectacle, something to behold. A vital component of their daily lives.  
  
He, meanwhile, had always abhorred unnecessary violence.  
  
“And I reiterate,” he said, feeling the pinpricks of a migraine building in his temple, “that as long as we are not defending the borders, there is nothing we ought to be anxious about. Your goods remain yours, as mine remain mine.”  
  
The meeting dragged on and ended with a fragile understanding that while men cower in the face of power, trust wouldn’t be handed over just as easily. Yielding was not synonymous to breaking. He’d known this, but seeing it in person never failed to astonish him. There would always be more he had to do in order to win someone over.  
  
He collapsed on his chair, cradling the side of his head where the headache had sprouted and where it was now intent on making him suffer. There was only one meeting left. One more and he could rest, close his eyes and shut out the world. Empires weren’t born in a fortnight, but all it would take to bring them down was a miscalculation he could never afford.  
  
But even the most powerful of rulers required rest, he thought, and he was nearing his limit.  
  
His intercom buzzed, and he heard his assistant drawl that whoever he was supposed to meet had arrived. He ordered for this another significant individual he had to meet to be ushered inside his office while he made a quick trip to the washroom.  
  
As soon as he crossed the threshold, the mirror revealed that he looked terrible. He had seen this reflected countless times, sometimes on the eyes of men whose lives had been ending. This look was not a surprise to him: dark circles under his eyes, in which the capillaries in the whites have begun to flood with red, his complexion that could use more color. His only consolation, he figured, was the absence of blood anywhere on his face. Usually there’d be a cut somewhere, iron oozing freely until he could taste it on his lips, flood his nose.  
  
He splashed water on his face, savoring the cool, refreshing feeling the droplets had brought him despite their impermanence. He could never trap enough cold in him, being a source of it himself. He had always lacked warmth. Some people had it in abundance, like they were vessels of quasars and supernovae, but him, he was always deficient in it. It made him greedy for heat and anything close to it.  
  
He wiped his face with a small towel, watching how his cheeks glowed to a pink tinge as he applied pressure, only for the color to dissipate as soon as he let go of the force he’d applied. Heat or cold—it didn’t matter. He could never hold on to either long enough.  
  
He stepped out and found his visitor admiring the view that his window provided, the rays of sun obscuring most of his form. Staying in the penthouse suite meant he had a spectacular view of what he owned, how far his legacy stretched.  
  
His guest had his back turned to him, hands clasped behind him, eyes fixated on the port that was the primary source of money. The fact that the port was under his control meant that he governed the trade, and he’d like to keep it that way as long as he could.  
  
“Armani, as always,” the man said, still not looking at him, but it was enough to make him freeze in place. “I always thought you looked pristine in those fancy suits of yours, but perhaps seeing it in person after all this time is something I could never account for.”  
  
It couldn’t be.  
  
“You,” was all he managed to say, and it came unbidden—breathless, accusatory, and full of disbelief.  
  
The man faced him, the same lopsided smile etched on his face. As their eyes met, the room suddenly felt too warm: the heat threatening to suffocate him and swelter his insides, every fiber of his body, every osteon that formed his bones. The kind of heat that could ensnare him and leave ashes in its wake.  
  
The only kind he would allow to do so.  
  
“Hello Jun,” the man— _Sho_ greeted. “It’s been a while.”


	2. Chapter 2

Pain is the most reliable indicator of a damaged system. Man is made to be sensitive towards it, that the tiny pinpricks of it congregating in one spot of the body are enough to indicate that something has gone wrong and will turn for the worse if left untreated.  
  
Jun, when he hears the news, expects to feel pain.  
  
A flutter of it would do. He has to feel something, he believes. But there is nothing except an absence that has always been there, a lingering emptiness. He feels nothing except the undeniable truth that he is in top shape, each cell in his body functioning adequately.  
  
“Jun-kun?” he hears again. “Your father is dead.”  
  
He opens his eyes and nods. It had been coming—the disease had been eating his father away. It was only a matter of time until it completely devoured him, and devour him it had. There is nothing surprising about the matter, but it leaves Jun questioning if the blood that flows through his veins is the same blood that had once given life to his father.  
  
How is it that he feels nothing, not even a hint of sadness or remorse? Like any son, he wronged and disappointed his father on numerous occasions, and yet, there is no penance on his part. He never sought forgiveness, and apparently he will never ask for it, not even after the death of an important figure in his life.  
  
Important figure, not a loved one. Jun doesn’t know what love means, aside from the passion he has towards his vast collection of musical recordings. He can attribute affection to tangible things, to possessions he indulges himself in.  
  
To people, not so much; they are unpredictable and fickle, and feelings are as finite. To Jun, loving people is a luxury he will never allow himself to have. Pain, he can accept, but only when he’d been the one who gave it to himself. Love often caused pain, and the fact that there is no trace of pain on his person means that he never loved his father.  
  
Jun understands these things as soon as he realizes the corresponding meaning of this news. His father is gone. He is the sole heir. His elder sister had long abdicated, eloped and forgotten by the family, marked as a disappointment to the name. He can never follow her footsteps.  
  
And he can never take after his father, who ruled through violence and fear, tearing the lesser with a strategically placed sniper rifle and winning over the majority by paying the right amount. Everyone has a price, the old man used to say, and it would do you well to know exactly what those are; man is what he makes of himself.  
  
It is strange to Jun that upon recollection, those are the only pieces of advice he can remember his father giving him. A measly scrap of paternal affection, yet the only one he ever had in his life. He was groomed to be the heir his whole life, and that meant that he had never experienced youth like most children did. At eleven, he was taught how to wield a gun. At thirteen, his kendo lessons transformed to wielding katanas—a talent that was never transferred to him despite the remarkable gene pool their family supposedly possessed.  
  
The funeral proves to be a dry, dull event. Prayers are chanted, and Jun wants to laugh at each syllable the monk utters. Why pray for a man to reach eternal life when all he did was to take others’ lives and play god? It’s a complete waste of time, and oddly enough, Jun isn’t finding it so because he desires to be inaugurated as soon as possible. On the contrary, he dreads his nameday. But prayers are unnecessary for a man who believed in neither heaven nor hell, and holding a funeral this grand is a waste of resources in Jun’s opinion. It is his responsibility to manage the costs now, and as he kneels and accepts condolences with the slightest tilts of his head, he knows he’s the one paying for these expenses in the end.  
  
Until the very last time, old man, he thinks with misplaced amusement, you have done nothing but make things rather troublesome for me.  
  
After the ceremonies that seemed to drag on forever, he has to meet some of their closest associates—men and women who instilled fear and gained respect over time, who worked hand-in-hand with his father in order to secure their future. Had Jun been someone else, these are the people he could perhaps trust. But considering his present situation as the yet unofficially recognized successor, he can only spare a tiny smile and offer nothing more.  
  
“You hated everything today,” Nino says, when they are finally back in Jun’s apartment—an entire floor in some high-rise condominium. Nino has always been by his side, calling things out and allowing him to release some of his stress.  
  
Jun only grunts in reply, tugging his tie loose with force. He felt overdressed and stared at too often. Some looked at him with curiosity, like he is the new circus attraction for them to prey upon. Others stared with contempt and distrust, like he is the son of a then-significant figure in their world.  
  
Which he is.  
  
Jun isn’t certain which he preferred, but had it been up to him, there would have been no funeral in the first place. “Today was a profound waste of valuable resources,” he tells Nino, “my time being the most precious of them all.”  
  
Nino hums and picks up the tie he carelessly discarded aside. “Nobody asked you to put on a show for your father, and you most certainly didn’t. I never saw you cry.”  
  
Jun shrugs off his suit jacket and deposits it in Nino’s waiting hands. “My presence there was the show itself. You’ve seen how they looked at me. I was the top performer, dancing to everybody’s standards without even knowing what those are. Nothing more than a jester.”  
  
“That jester is the new leader,” Nino reminds him. “They will respect you in time.”  
  
Jun rolls the sleeves of his dress shirt up and cracks his neck joints. “I don’t want their respect. I can do with acknowledgement. Their respect, fear, allegiance, and money—all those I will gain in time. I may not have put on a splendid show today, but you’re right: I am the leader now. If anyone’s going to be performing in the future, it’s them for me.”  
  
“I never had cause to doubt your ambition,” Nino says, arranging Jun’s shoes after retrieving them from where Jun kicked them off. “Your inauguration will take place a week from now. Your suit will be tailored, so expect someone to get your measurements and try not to be too sour about it. The invitations, you can leave to me and Aiba. In fact, everything has been taken care of.”  
  
Jun pours himself a glass of scotch and finishes all of it in one gulp. “If everything has been arranged, why are you here telling me these things?”  
  
Nino stands beside his door, halfway into slipping his feet in his own shoes and excusing himself. “We needed your stamp for the invitations.”  
  
“You took that from the pocket of my suit jacket the moment I handed it over,” Jun says, unsurprised. Nino always had quick hands.  
  
“As I should,” Nino acknowledges, bowing. “Good night, Jun-kun.”  
  
The door clicks and the lock falls in place, and Jun sits in the corner of his living room, nursing another glass of scotch. His future, the one gift his father gave him, begins tonight, and the only indication he has of it is the stinging burn of alcohol as it floods down his throat.  
  
In hindsight, this is the kind of pain he wants in order to remember all of the events that led to this night.  
  
\--  
  
Eyes indicated the antiquity of the soul, an American poet once said. Jun had encountered the saying in his readings—he is a voracious reader, finding books to be more interesting than people. Books don’t lie, don’t betray, don’t disappoint like people inevitably do. Books hold truths no one would be able to tell him, and upon reading those particular set of words, Jun believed them to be true.  
  
He stares at his reflection and wonders what the people of tonight might see when they look into his eyes. Some of them will be reminded of his late father, no doubt; they are similar in almost all parts of their facial features save for the eyebrows. There might be those who will mistake his ambitions for plots towards ascension, and they won’t be wrong, not exactly. Jun wonders how much truth his eyes might bring to the table and if it can help assuage the anxious, often bickering old men and women that he has promise, potential, and the ability to turn his aspirations into reality.  
  
If there is one thing he isn’t looking for tonight, it is acceptance. He doesn’t need anybody’s approval—the throne is his by birthright. He can’t do much by having an old man backup his decisions. Jun, all his life, has strived for independence, and the least those people invited to his inauguration night can do is to let him be.  
  
Despite his yearning for autonomy, however, he recognizes that in order to create the future he envisioned, he needed men, even if they are mostly unreliable and unreasonable. His father’s funeral paved the beginning of his journey, but his inauguration night is the key to sustain the dream he has always been holding on to.  
  
Win them over, he tells himself on the mirror, and you win. Put on a show, and you’ll have them perform for you in no time.  
  
Nino, as always, escorts him out and leads him to the car that Aiba is to drive back to Jun’s ancestral house in Toshima. Traditions, they both reminded Jun, should be observed. Jun is vying for change, but he acknowledges that Nino and Aiba will never lead him astray.  
  
He will never question their loyalty.  
  
“All these theatrics for a necklace,” Jun says, after he fastens his seatbelt and slouches on the back seat.  
  
“We ordered your favorite wine,” Aiba informs him as he gets the engine running. Nino sits on the passenger side, examining his already perfect hair in the rear view mirror and not contributing a word to the conversation. “Wine for you, sake for the others.”  
  
Jun nods and Aiba drives on. “The wine won’t help me stomach all the socializing I have to do, but I appreciate the thought.”  
  
“If I may offer a piece of advice?” Nino asks, finally breaking his uncharacteristic silence.  
  
Jun hums in question.  
  
“Smile for them, Jun-kun,” Nino tells him, meeting his eyes in the mirror. “Doesn’t matter if it’s forced, as long as it doesn’t look forced. Give them all the acknowledgements you know they’re dying to hear. Praise them, tell them you recognize their experience and are grateful for their presence. Lies never truly harmed those who knew how to wield them.”  
  
Jun knew these things even before he had put on his tailored suit, but it is just like Nino to remind him of it. “This whole event is a lie in itself. I don’t have to do much, do I? We all know they don’t think I’m ready to assume the position.”  
  
“They don’t have a choice. Unless there are usurpers who have been plotting behind your back, there’s no one else. However, for tonight, perhaps you can make them believe you are what they think,” Nino says. “And then you prove them wrong. You’re good at that.”  
  
Jun smiles; he can’t help it. “Your faith in me would have changed the way of things, had my father been anything like you.”  
  
Nino is silent at that, and Jun stares out the window, eyes following the trails of luminescent street lamps as the car moves past them. He watches his own reflection float with the rest of the city as his canvas and thinks with fierce determination that if there is anything his guests for tonight will see in him, it won’t be the truth.  
  
\--  
  
The wine is pleasant, spicy and sweet in the manner that lingers as he rolls his tongue through each intricately crafted lie that has been earning him the laughs and the acknowledging nods all night. The family heirloom, a silver-chained necklace with a horseshoe-shaped pendant made of diamonds, adorns his neck. It is the proof that he is now the leader, the only Matsumoto that matters. With the necklace comes the exhausting task of mingling with people who can make or break his future, and Jun learned long ago to keep his cards close.  
  
People, as long as they aren’t in a position of power or authority, are dispensable. There will always be some money-hungry, greedy individual out there willing to continue an uncompleted dirty work. Unfortunately for Jun, that also means that there will always be someone who will want to dispose of him, and the pendant hanging on his neck is the X that marks the spot.  
  
He is someone important now, and while he can sense the apprehension and distaste some of their closest allies have for him, they remain vigilant enough not to expose a sliver of it in his presence. The ancestral home is heavily guarded, and the fact that these people still attended the event despite knowing that it is Jun’s home court, means that Jun, somehow, had their trust. He is using that against them now, playing the fool and flashing grins effortlessly as he takes his fill of his favorite wine.  
  
The night drags on, and occasionally there are lingering hands that signify the promise of companionship. Their touches only solidified that he is someone else now: an essential ingredient to somebody else’s plans, perhaps. Jun keeps the flirting to what is acceptable for his personal standards, never promising more.  
  
Everyone wants something from him now.  
  
“We have one invitation that got sent back,” Nino informs him when the night is over and it is early morning. Nino never drinks, but he did his part and entertained Jun’s guests to the best of his ability, to help Jun gain the favor of his allies.  
  
“Anybody important?” Jun asks. They are in his father’s office now, perusing through ledgers to know exactly how much of the legacy is still left after all the ‘traditions’ they had to adhere to.  
  
He hears Nino sigh. “Yes, unfortunately.”  
  
Jun straightens in his seat, fingers absentmindedly playing with the diamonds on his neck. “Well?” he prompts. He knows most of the names of the important people who control significant portions of the city as well as the transactions there. It is expected of him. He believes he’d met all those infuriating but necessary people tonight, cracked a joke with them and shared a good laugh or two.  
  
“He sent a card,” Nino says, pulling out a cream-colored envelope from his suit jacket. “We checked it for any malicious intent through the scanners and found none. It remains unopened. I know you hate it when someone reads through your mail first.”  
  
Jun holds out his palm across the table. He is seated in his father’s enormous swivel chair, a polished oak desk separating him from Nino. His rings gleam under the light as he waits for Nino to place the envelope in his waiting hand.  
  
Nino does, and Jun wastes no time in flipping it over to check the seal. There is nothing except a sakura, ornate and branded in a red seal, like it is a letter from olden times. Jun wants to scoff at how traditional it is but refrains, instead tearing through the seal by yanking the flap up and extracting the card in a rush.  
  
It is a congratulatory card, scented with what seems to be artificial floral perfume, and Jun’s mouth twitches to a scowl as he flips it open.  
  
_Matsumoto-kun,_ it reads in handwritten keigo that makes Jun’s eyebrow raise, _you have my deepest apologies for tonight’s event which I had to miss. I had far more important matters to attend to, but I personally extend my felicitations to you for this promotion and honor._  
  
“Sincerely yours,” Jun reads aloud, “Sakurai Sho.”  
  
He meets Nino’s eyes, and Nino stares back.  
  
“You haven’t touched this card,” Jun says.  
  
“No,” Nino affirms.  
  
Jun flicks the card across the tabletop, and Nino catches it before it slides off the edge of the desk. “Read what it says.”  
  
Nino does, and in a few seconds, he is folding it and reaching for the discarded envelope to place it back inside. “He didn’t bother mask the insult, I see.”  
  
Jun feels the steady thrum of his anger that had been looming since he caught the distasteful looks of the old men and women who attended tonight’s event. Sakurai’s card aggravated things, and Jun has this urge to smash something in order to let his frustrations out.  
  
“He controls the port,” Jun informs Nino, choosing to rise from the chair instead and pace. “Anything that goes in and out of the city, he controls it because the port is his.”  
  
Jun turns to Nino. “And you only told me of the returned invitation now.”  
  
Nino doesn’t look intimidated. “Because the return arrived with the card, and the card was delivered after we began sending everybody home. RSVP wasn’t applicable to your inauguration, Jun-kun, you know this. Had we required that, they wouldn’t have come, instead would have interpreted it as you taking countermeasures to eliminate them. Quite literally, at that.”  
  
“I’ve had enough of the scoffs,” Jun says, eyeing the envelope in Nino’s hands. “Do we have his address?”  
  
“Of course.”  
  
“Good.” Jun nods as he continues pacing. “Arrange a meeting. I don’t care how, I don’t care when. As soon as this Sakurai is able. I can stomach any insult hurled at my face, but if he has no guts to say any of that in front of me, then he is nothing but another important name whose time will end as soon as I claim what has always been ours.”  
  
His father had suffered losses in his desire to expand their resources. Expansion also equated to losing some of those resources. Small losses which eventually led to major ones, and with the old man dead, Jun is left with the existing problem of his family name being necessary as long as firepower is a requirement in any transaction. He knows about the movement behind his back, of other clans forming alliances in an attempt to take over what Jun has in order to do away with his existing control over weaponry.  
  
But he won’t be cast aside so easily.  
  
He plays his cards carefully. For him to understand the critical aspects of the business and to win over the people who control them, he had to meet and be friends with other leaders. That included the absent Sakurai, who perhaps knows what Jun has in mind or is simply content with insinuating that Jun is inexperienced in his eyes.  
  
Either way, Jun will find out.  
  
“Arrange it,” he orders Nino, taking the envelope from the man’s hands and plucking a lighter from Nino’s coat pocket. Nino always kept one with him, for his own and Jun’s smoking habit. “If he had other important matters to take care of, I simply need to be part of those so he’ll pay attention and not slight me next time.”  
  
Nino bows in acknowledgement and leaves, shutting the door quietly behind him.  
  
Alone in his father’s study and surrounded by papers and ledgers that speak of nothing but money and assets under his name, Jun flicks the lighter, the blue flame touching the tip of the envelope. He allows it to catch fire.  
  
He watches it ignite until the seal has completely melted away and drops the half-burnt envelope to the floor, never taking his eyes off it as the paper curls in itself. Blue turns to bright orange before quickly transforming to black and becoming gray and white, the words the card held fading to ashes.  
  
Jun brings his foot down on the remnants of the card to put out the fire, and he feels the tendrils of satisfaction cascade in his veins as he sees the cinders float in the air. They descend slowly, in haphazard patterns that surround his feet.  
  
When I’m done with you, Jun thinks, there’ll be nothing left.  
  
\--  
  
Nino’s efficiency means that a month after Jun’s official naming as the new Matsumoto leader, Jun finds himself in Sakurai’s home in Minato, which also serves as the base of his affairs. Clad in his best suit with the family heirloom sitting on the dip between his collarbones, Jun allows himself be escorted inside by servants who assume the seiza every time they open the doors for him.  
  
Sakurai Sho apparently lives in his family’s ancestral home, a traditional Japanese house with a beautiful zen garden that takes Jun’s attention away for a couple of seconds. There is a well-maintained lake filled with purple lilies under a bridge that Jun had to cross in order to reach the house. Koi swim in the water under him as he moves in perfectly paced strides, and he only allows himself a fleeting glance at the overall scenery.  
  
Jun is eventually led to a room about the size of ten tatami. There is a long ornate table with scattered flowers on the surface at the center of the room, and Jun merely blinks at the sight of an expensive looking vase at the middle of the clutter.  
  
He already toed off his shoes at the door so he doesn’t wait for any acknowledgement as he assumes the seiza on the only zabuton on the floor. Whoever is behind the elaborate and colorful ikebana has yet to pay attention to him, and Jun will not permit himself to grow annoyed at these theatrics.  
  
Let him cut off a stem and arrange flowers in his leisure, Jun thinks. If Sakurai Sho has no time for him, his request to meetup wouldn’t have been entertained in the first place. The man is simply utilizing all resources at his disposal to infuriate Jun further, and Jun will never hand him the satisfaction of seeing a trace of it on his face.  
  
A particularly loud snap of scissors brings Jun back to attention, and he watches as a white lily drops unceremoniously on the tabletop. He continues eyeing the flower despite feeling someone staring at him through the thick foliage that obscures most of Jun’s view. He schools his features to patience.  
  
“Would you like some tea?” comes a deep voice that Jun didn’t expect so soon.  
  
Still, he doesn’t allow it to throw him off. “That won’t be necessary, but thank you nonetheless.” If he gets what he came for, he doesn’t want to owe Sakurai Sho anything more.  
  
Another snip of the scissors and he hears more than sees a smile. “You would forgive me for attending to these flowers first. I couldn’t let them wither; they were freshly delivered from Greece.”  
  
“Exquisite,” Jun says, allowing the barest hints of dryness to seep through his tone.  
  
That somehow manages to halt the incessant snap of the sharp shears, and Jun sees the scissors being carefully placed on the table. Soon, the vase and its towering flowers are being pushed aside, and Jun finds himself looking at Sakurai Sho in the face for the first time.  
  
He can’t be far from Jun’s age. Jun takes in what he sees: round face and equally round eyes, with lines surrounding each. Unruly eyebrows which are scrunched in what Jun interprets as curiosity and amusement. Sakurai is dressed in a yukata patterned after the tumultuous waves similar to Hokusai’s work, fabric dyed in various shades of blue. He reeks of tradition and he blends perfectly with his house, while Jun stands out for sticking to his suits that fit him like a glove.  
  
“The necklace suits you,” Sakurai says, inclining his head toward the jewelry.  
  
“I’ve been told,” Jun answers, recognizing the trap as soon as he hears it. He won’t let Sakurai rile him up like he did with the damn scented card.  
  
Sakurai looks on the verge of smiling, but he rests his chin on his knuckles instead and regards Jun carefully. Jun has been stared at on multiple occasions, and what Sakurai is doing is nothing strange or special. Jun isn’t intimidated or violated by it so he meets Sakurai’s gaze evenly when it finally snaps back to his face.  
  
“Finished?” Jun inquires, and it earns him Sakurai Sho’s first smile.  
  
“Quite,” Sakurai answers, full lips revealing teeth. “I’ve been informed that your succession had been a smooth transition. A relief, I’m sure, especially after the death of a loved one most respected in his time.”  
  
“I’m afraid I could never assess how high your regard for my father is,” Jun says, holding his head high, “since I never saw you in his funeral.”  
  
Sakurai lets out a chuckle, face scrunching a little in delight. Jun isn’t privy to what seems to be amusing, but he reckons it has something to do with him. He doesn’t let it bother him.  
  
“I had some errands to run,” Sakurai says, every word laced with untruthfulness. “I did send flowers.”  
  
“And?” Jun spares a glance at the unfinished ikebana to his right. “Did you make those too? To personally extend your condolences despite your inability to take part in the grieving?”  
  
Sakurai’s lips twitch. “Don’t insult the flowers, Matsumoto-kun. They’re a dying beauty. Ephemeral, and therefore more worth my time. We all have things we hold on to and things we want to do away with. I believe our views towards family affairs are in accordance with one another.”  
  
From what Jun knows, Sakurai Sho came into the seat of power after he had done away with his traitorous aunt who had usurped the throne from his father. It was how he’d gotten so much respect despite his age being close to Jun’s. Sakurai Sho snatched more power, more than what was given to him by his birthright. It made him exceptional.  
  
“I didn’t kill my father,” Jun says.  
  
Sakurai laughs, loud and obnoxious. The type that Jun will replay in his head as soon as he leaves this place. “I never said you did. No need to be defensive. We all know he succumbed to his illness. It was expected. Modern medicine can only do so much. Money can only buy so much.”  
  
“The port remains under your control, yes?” Jun asks, diverting the topic. They had exchanged enough pleasantries and engaged in enough small talk. He doesn’t want to discuss the dead with a man who scoffed at his naming.  
  
“I believe so, unless in the past few hours one of my siblings has taken my place as the head of my clan,” Sakurai affirms. There is a grin playing on his lips, and Jun catches him looking at his mouth more than twice.  
  
“I have a shipment arriving at two in the morning,” Jun says, wishing to end this meeting fast. Sakurai is just another irritating leader he will have to bend to his will, but Jun prefers to do that with wine glass in hand. Words came to him easily when he armed himself with wine. “I would appreciate your consideration in letting that pass without any incident.”  
  
Sakurai’s eyebrow quirks. “That is all you’re willing to tell me?”  
  
Jun matches it with a raised eyebrow of his own. “I will forward the information to you as soon as I have your word that my business will not be compromised in your territory.”  
  
Sakurai grins and stands, inclining his head. “Then convince me, Matsumoto-kun, so I can determine for myself if this shipment is truly worth my approval.” He opens the door behind him, revealing the rest of the garden that Jun didn’t get to see. “Walk with me.”  
  
Recognizing the invitation as something that could lead to a beginning, Jun follows, and as soon as he steps out of the room, an attendant provides him with slippers to use. He puts them on and walks beside Sakurai, discovering that they are of similar height. Jun is perhaps only a couple of millimeters taller. From his place he can see inked skin peeking at the edges of Sakurai’s yukata, the complexion of his nape transitioning from brown to faded blue.  
  
Somewhere underneath that elaborate garb lay a tattoo, a mark of tradition. Perhaps it is a symbol of the Sakurai family or a worshipped deity of old that Sakurai associates himself with. Perhaps it served to prove his place just like the necklace adorning Jun’s throat.  
  
Irrelevant, Jun thinks, dismissing the distraction. He can have the entire map of his territory etched on his back and it won’t help him when I finally take it.  
  
“Having the port under my name isn’t as profitable as it seems,” Sakurai says, breaking the silence. Around them are lush green growths and the occasional flowers, and Jun can hear a frog croaking somewhere far. “With money comes paperwork, with paperwork comes the legalities, and with those legalities come the incessant disputes. Money always led to misunderstandings, particularly with old men who believe they know and have seen everything.”  
  
“Old men who adhere to traditions?” Jun asks, eyes on the fallen petals lying close to their feet. A little hypocritical of Sakurai to talk about traditions when every single thing in this patch of land speaks exactly that.  
  
“Respect for traditions is what wins over those old men,” Sakurai says, the corner of his mouth upturned. “What I did in order to have what I have might have been revolutionary, but there are rules to stick with, to follow. Rules set the limits and the absolutes. Whoever gets to make them controls the game.”  
  
“You’d find, Sakurai-san, that I am adhering to your rules by seeking your approval in person,” Jun says. “Should I have worn a yukata to acquire it?”  
  
“That sounds very inviting, but you’re an impatient type, Matsumoto-kun,” Sakurai says, stopping in his tracks to observe Jun from head to foot then back up. “I was trying to show you my garden.”  
  
“I’ve seen it on the way inside earlier,” Jun claims.  
  
“I’ve heard you’re into a bit of gardening yourself,” Sakurai tells him, eyes alight with mirth. “I thought you’d appreciate a personal tour of the premises.”  
  
Jun looks around for show. “Why would you show me how you operate this place? Does that thrill you, the idea that you’re letting a potential competitor in your hive?”  
  
“Quite the opposite, I’m afraid,” Sakurai says, resuming his walk and leaving Jun with no choice but to follow. “I’m showing you...my lair, if that term is acceptable, so the next time you visit you no longer need a guide to tell you where I am.”  
  
“I don’t have a shipment every week,” Jun says, quelling his temper. “Out of courtesy to you who governs that side of the city, I came personally for your permission. Should you grant it, this will be the last time I’ll be here. And that is preferable to you, I believe, that I remain as a one-time inconvenience. A meeting that you’d rather not have again.”  
  
Sakurai looks appalled. “What gave you that impression?”  
  
Jun faces him and smiles at him for the first time—his most charming one, according to Nino. “Your scented card.”  
  
“Did you smell it? I pressed roses on its surface,” Sakurai says. “Or did you think it was artificial?”  
  
“Does it matter? I’m not here because of the card.” Jun waves his hand in dismissal. “I’m here for an assurance that my shipment will not be jeopardized in any way as the delivery is made. As soon as the goods are out of your border, my men will do their work. I only ask that you allow the ship to dock and my men to perform their job.”  
  
Sakurai purses his lips, appearing contemplative. Jun busies himself with looking at the plants around them. He is into a bit of gardening—there is something about bonsais that drew him in. Their long life and the idea of never getting to see the fruits of his nurture is enticing in an inexplicable way. He is currently looking for one he can have in his apartment.  
  
Sakurai clears his throat and Jun’s attention snaps back to him. “Two in the morning?”  
  
Jun inclines his head. “Yes.”  
  
“How much time do you need to use the port?”  
  
“Two hours. That’s cargo unloaded and transported. I value efficiency, Sakurai-san. Tardiness is unbecoming, I’m certain you’d agree.”  
  
Sakurai smiles. “You’ll forward the specifics to me?”  
  
“Are you giving me your word?” Jun asks.  
  
Sakurai moistens his lips. “From two in the morning until four, the port will be yours to use.”  
  
Jun steps back and lowers his head in a formal bow. “You have my thanks and appreciation.” He straightens up and tilts his head in a gesture of farewell. “It has been a pleasure doing business with you, Sakurai-san. I’ll see myself out.”  
  
He doesn’t wait for Sakurai’s acknowledging reply, instead walks back to the house to retrieve his shoes. He can feel Sakurai’s gaze following him and he ignores it, taking comfort in his ability to convince.  
  
If he can have a man like Sakurai Sho bend to his whims, his desires will be within reach in no time. But Jun never liked using people unless it is necessary, and Sakurai Sho is simply one of those powerful individuals he has to work with in order to get what he wants. A rulemaker that Jun has to learn how to manipulate. If not, then influencing Sakurai Sho will do.  
  
Technically, he is in a loose alliance with Sakurai since his father sided with Sho back when he’d made the claim to be the family’s ruler. Jun refers to his alliance as loose on account of his father’s death and Sakurai’s obvious disbelief in his experience. But if he can cultivate that and let it sprout, he believes he’ll be closer to the reestablishment of his clan’s degraded status. Corruption has consumed their name, another legacy of his father for him.  
  
On his way out, he catches sight of the scattered stems, leaves, and flowers surrounding the unfinished art Sakurai cast aside in favor of him. The thought pleases him, that he managed to direct the undivided attention of an influential man towards him.  
  
Know your strengths, he tells himself. And use them.  
  
He picks up the white lily that he saw fall earlier, and he hears footsteps behind him.  
  
Without turning, Jun asks, “Would you mind if I take this?”  
  
“What for?” Sakurai asks as Jun cups the delicate flower in his hands, thumbs caressing the soft petals.  
  
“A souvenir,” Jun says, standing by the now-opened doors. Sakurai’s attendants are alert as always. “Something to remember your agreement and this meeting by.”  
  
Jun looks over his shoulder and meets Sakurai’s eyes. Jun blinks at him as he waits for a response.  
  
“You may have it,” Sakurai acquiesces.  
  
Jun tilts his head. “Thank you,” he says as honestly as he can manage.  
  
He turns away and leaves for the car that is waiting for him.  
  
As soon as he gets back in his apartment, he grabs a bowl and fills it halfway with water before depositing the flower there. He watches it float for a moment.  
  
\--  
  
What drives you? Jun had been sixteen when he had seen the words graffitied onto a bridge that housed more outlaws than the back alleys of Tokyo. Kobe had most of their resources, back when the port was still under their control.  
  
Passion, ambition, a better future, Jun thought back then. That was what had driven him. At that age, he was asked to kill a man. They gave him guns, katanas, and assorted knives to use, but to him, those were simply extensions of the real weapon—his hands.  
  
Men have always been the best asset in any organization. Without men, there’ll be no intel, no workers, no runners. Jun, from the moment his sister eloped and left, knew that the loss of men—the most vital asset of them all—would mean the eventual loss of all they’d worked hard for.  
  
The port is one of those things they lost. His father had unwittingly gifted it to Sakurai Sho to show his loyalty (because unlike the old men who valued the given word, Sakurai required proof, which made him a step ahead of everybody else), and that action had since caused their free reign to diminish gradually.  
  
What remains of Jun’s territory still allows him to resume their usual activities—every clan requires firepower, and being the one who mostly handles arms dealership means that Jun has a big fraction of nearly everyone’s money.  
  
With the exception of Sakurai, Reizei, and Shirihara.  
  
Sakurai doesn’t rely on him for weapons supply because he controls the port. It’s the primary route of entry in the city, and with that under his name, Sakurai Sho doesn’t need anyone to cooperate with. Instead, they all have to cooperate with him, which gives him the best vantage point in the game.  
  
Reizei, meanwhile, remains as Jun’s biggest competitor in the arms dealing business, and Shirihara is the traditional self-absorbed clan who prefers katanas rather than firearms. Shirihara is the most traditional one of them all, and they are the one family Jun doesn’t want to have any dealings with.  
  
Jun’s shipment had been delivered without any incidents—a proof that Sakurai honored their agreement. Jun sent him tulips from Holland as a thank you, and he is mildly surprised to find out that there is no card waiting for him.  
  
“No word?” he asks Nino again, who only nods.  
  
“They accepted the tulips. Nothing more.”  
  
Jun hums. “That’s interesting.” He moves his rook to protect his queen. “Your turn.”  
  
Playing chess with Nino helps him unwind. Nino has been outlining their clients to him all evening, and he is yet to come to a decision regarding a favor being asked by one of their old allies.  
  
“I never asked how it was like,” Nino says as he contemplates his next move.  
  
Jun frowns, and Nino picks up his knight to do away with one of Jun’s pawns. Rather unexpected of Nino, but Jun doesn’t comment on it.  
  
“How was what like?” he asks, fingers absentmindedly stroking his chin as he observes the board between them. Nino is quite clever in chess (or any board game for that matter), and his seemingly spontaneous way of playing is hardly anything but. There has to be a trap somewhere, and Jun wants to find it.  
  
“Meeting Sakurai Sho,” Nino answers. He’s not prying, and in his tone, Jun hears the invitation for a refusal. “Did his card tell you everything you needed to know prior to meeting him?”  
  
Jun spends some moments recalling their meeting. Nothing in particular stood out to him, though he has a withering lily in a glass bowl for a souvenir. “He does ikebana.”  
  
Nino smiles, a slight curling of lips. “Hence the tulips you sent in thanks?”  
  
He’s sharp as always, and it makes Jun smile back. It’s why he keeps Nino around. Nino’s cleverness might be detrimental, but since his loyalty to Jun is unquestionable, Jun is the one who benefits the most from it.  
  
Except when they’re playing a game together, because Nino rarely shows his hand until he’s going for the kill.  
  
“I can’t court him if I don’t know what he likes, can I?” Jun asks. He finally decides to move his bishop to protect his queen. “He seems to know I’m into gardening.”  
  
“That doesn’t surprise me,” Nino tells him, frowning at the board now. “He has his hand in everything. I’d wager he had his people look into you as soon as he received the request I sent regarding a meetup.”  
  
“And I’d wager you did everything you could to only give them an overview of me,” Jun says with confidence.  
  
Nino picks up his knight and does away with one of Jun’s bishops. “If you’re wondering if Sakurai Sho knows your favorite suit brands, he probably does. But if you’re thinking he knows how much money you have in your name, I’m positive he doesn’t.” Nino grins. “Check in three, by the way.”  
  
Jun stares at the board and sees the trap laid out for him, so carefully arranged that he only notices when it’s close to being complete. Nino can pass for a predator; it’s a relief he isn’t one of Jun’s competitors but one of the people Jun trusts the most.  
  
He moves his queen out of the way and signals for Nino to make his move. “Which is why I’m surprised he hasn’t sent anything. I gathered he wasn’t the type to let anyone else have the last word, but it’s been nearly two weeks and we haven’t received anything from him.”  
  
Nino eyes the board for a couple of moments, tapping on his lips with his forefinger absentmindedly. “Have you decided on whether to accept the handling of Yamaguchi’s shipment while he handles his affairs in Siberia?”  
  
It’s what they’ve been talking about before the topic of Sakurai Sho came. “If I accept,” Jun ponders, “I feel I will turn into his lackey.”  
  
Nino decides to chase after Jun’s queen with his bishop. “Except that Yamaguchi genuinely likes you. You’ve seen what he gave you on your nameday. He forked quite a sum over for it, I believe.”  
  
Jun got an entire cellar-worth of (perhaps illegally) imported wine from Yamaguchi. Nino is right; the man definitely spent a fortune on those bottles. Jun is yet to figure out on which occasion is he going to use each of them. “It will gain me favorability if I accept. And yet, there might be those who will interpret it as obedience on my part.” He moves his queen out of the way and clicks his tongue at Nino’s grin. “Stop chasing my queen; you can’t have her.”  
  
“Then whoever misinterprets your actions simply needs to be informed correctly,” Nino says as he picks up a nearby knight and goes for the kill. Jun hadn’t seen that coming. He had been so focused on Nino’s bishop from earlier. “Check.” Nino smiles, broad and amused. “Sir,” he adds.  
  
Jun flicks his forefinger to topple his queen over, acknowledging his defeat. “Inform Yamaguchi-kun of this development.”  
  
Nino inclines his head and excuses himself, but only after Jun’s refusal of his offer to reset the game. Jun can handle that himself.  
  
He picks up the chess pieces and starts arranging them, finding something for his hands to do. His ring gleams with each movement, metal clinking against the glass pieces as Jun busies himself with resetting the board. It’s as if moving these pieces is him making his move in the real game. His agreement regarding overseeing Yamaguchi’s business personally establishes him as a trustworthy ally of the man, but there are consequences that he can’t foresee and that bothers him.  
  
Nino returns when Jun has arranged the board and is staring at the pieces as if he can make them float, and Nino has to clear his throat a few times to get Jun’s attention.  
  
“I’ve informed them of your decision,” Nino says. “He was pleased and would like to know if there’s anything you want as a souvenir.”  
  
“I’m yet to taste his expensive wines, so no.” Jun stands and buttons the top button of his suit jacket. He moves to the nearest window to watch the city, the day giving way to the night and illuminating the streets in striking colors. This house in Toshima does give him a view of majority of his territory.  
  
He’s just wondering how long will this part of the city remain under his hold when he hears Nino scream his name and feels himself tackled to the ground, followed by a deafening crash caused by glass shattering.  
  
Nino is on top of him, pressing him down to the floor as he tries to make sense of what happened. Nino is screaming for the guards to get inside, and soon Jun hears the heavy footsteps running towards them.  
  
“Are you okay?” Nino asks, moving off him and shaking him. “Are you hurt?”  
  
“What was that?” Jun asks, still breathless. His blood rushed to his head as soon as he heard Nino’s terrified voice. There was no explosion or gunfire, but there was something that broke the window.  
  
Nino’s gaze moves to the floor. They’re now surrounded by Jun’s men, armed and inspecting the damage. Some of them already filed out of the room, intent on seeking the perpetrator behind the attack, some aiming their guns out into the night.  
  
Jun looks down and sees it: a red dart planted on the floorboard, undoubtedly aiming for his neck if it hadn’t been for Nino’s senses. His eyes narrow when he sees the spot on the floor pierced by the dart bubble and sizzle, emitting a small hiss as it reacts with the material of the flooring.  
  
Had that hit him—  
  
“You would have been dead in a matter of seconds,” Nino says, as if knowing exactly what’s on Jun’s mind. He crouches down and inspects the dart, eyes hard.  
  
Jun looks around and sees the rest of his men awaiting orders. Shattered pieces of glass lay at their feet, and Jun hears them crunching under his shoes as he turns to give orders. “Get this room cleaned,” he says, refusing to show a moment of weakness. “And find whoever was it that tried to kill me tonight. Find him and bring him to me alive.”  
  
He shoots a glance at Nino, who’s still inspecting the dart cautiously. “I can have someone run an analysis on this thing,” Nino informs him, gesturing to the dart. He doesn’t dare pick it up. “But it’s better if you leave, now. Whoever was it that tried to kill you won’t stop now that he failed.”  
  
Jun palpates his neck unconsciously, feels his pulse thrumming—a proof that he’s alive and the attempt has failed. He wonders how Nino managed to catch sight of the dart flying in his direction despite the growing darkness outside. “Have someone tell us what’s inside that thing as soon as possible,” he says instead, not liking where his thoughts are going.  
  
Is he becoming paranoid?  
  
Nino nods and stands up, hands straightening his slacks. “I’m getting you home. I’ll tell Aiba-shi to ditch the car and get us the armored one. If someone’s going to shoot at you, they’re going to have to try harder.”  
  
Jun allows himself to be led outside, with Nino clutching tight on his elbow. Night was just breaking when the attack happened. And yet Nino had seen it coming for reasons unknown. Had he known? Is it possible that Nino knew there was going to be an attempt on his life tonight?  
  
Jun shakes his head. This is what his perpetrator wants him to think. Nino is one of his closest confidantes. Nino would never betray his trust.  
  
“How did you know?” Jun asks, when they’re finally in a room that has no windows, only a grand piano that lay untouched for years. This part of the house had been ignored when his father fell ill. The piano existed as a way of recreation for the old man, and when he couldn’t play it anymore, it lay abandoned and forgotten.  
  
“I saw the glint of the gun aimed at you,” Nino says. “Are you doubting me now?”  
  
Jun looks at him. Nino has never been afraid of him. But, Jun knows, if he asks Nino to shoot himself right now, Nino would do it. If Jun asks that he lose a finger to commemorate this event, Nino wouldn’t hesitate to pull out a knife and ask which finger would he like.  
  
“I’m starting to think I don’t know who to trust, is all,” Jun says, not breaking eye contact.  
  
Nino’s eyes narrow at him. “You know what that means,” Nino tells him.  
  
Jun nods.  
  
“I’m important enough that someone wants me dead,” he acknowledges.  
  
He’s in the big game now. He has no idea what he has done recently to warrant an assassination attempt, but he knows that whatever he decides to do from now on will result to more plots that seek to end his reign.  
  
Jun wants to crush them, all of them who thought they could do away with him so easily.  
  
What drives you? he remembers reading many years ago. It was written on an off-white wall with the paint chipping on the surface, a black spray that wasn’t meant to invoke thought, yet something that stuck with him even though he merely saw it in passing.  
  
Passion, Jun thinks, vowing revenge and slow death once he finds out who’s behind the poison dart. Ambition, he answers next, imagining himself trampling down on those who thought he’d be so weak like his father.  
  
A better future, he decides with conviction. When he’s done with all of them, he’ll leave nothing but scraps for them to grovel at at his feet. He’ll show mercy to make them hope for it, crave it, want it, burn for it. Then he’ll take it all away without second thought and let them destroy themselves, be content with the idea that he instigated it all.  
  
This is my game now, he thinks and makes a promise: I’m going to make the rules.


	3. Chapter 3

The failed attempt on his life in his father’s ancestral home was, according to Nino, a way to drive him out of that part of the city. Despite that being merely part of Nino’s speculation, Jun decided to move the main office of his affairs into one of the buildings under his family name.  
  
He gets the top floor for his personal office, a penthouse suite padded with bulletproof glass. Each corridor is monitored 24/7 by security cameras, and whatever is given to Jun as a token of appreciation from another party is inspected thoroughly.  
  
“Botulinum,” Nino says, a week after the attempt. They’re in Jun’s new office now, separated by an L-shaped desk and opened ledgers. “That was what the poison was, according to the findings. I’d say the dart was meticulously crafted since the toxin itself is very potent.”  
  
“They won’t stop at poison darts,” Jun says, turning his ledger to check the recorded balance of a previous transaction. “They will stop at nothing.”  
  
“We’re taking countermeasures, Jun-kun,” Nino assures him. “Although, if you are thinking of weeding out the garden, our resources might not be enough to reveal the truth as soon as possible.”  
  
Jun looks up at Nino, who says nothing else. He understands what Nino is implying, but his pride is refusing the idea of it.  
  
“I will not,” Jun says firmly, ignoring the brief moment in which Nino shuts his eyes. “I swore to myself I wouldn’t come back to watch him arrange imported flowers in a century-old vase.”  
  
“He has the resources that we don’t have,” Nino tells him, voice patient despite his disapproval of Jun’s stubbornness. Jun’s obstinacy is often an admirable thing about him, but it’s also a frequent cause of disagreement between him and Nino. “You need allies more than ever. You know this. I don’t understand why I’m here telling you things you know yourself.”  
  
“And I’m supposed to win over Sakurai Sho by sauntering back to his lair, only this time I have the convenient story of an assassination plot happening behind my back so perhaps he should consider me more?” Jun stands in a rush and stalks towards the nearest window. “I will not. I will not beg for attention. Once was enough. He spent three minutes tending to his flowers before acknowledging me. I will not subject myself to that again.”  
  
How is he supposed to inspire those under him if he’s someone who fights for the attention of one man? All the attention he got on his nameday was given to him because of the occasion. But otherwise, Jun has yet to become someone memorable, someone worthy of respect. To gain that, he knows he has to earn it. But does it involve supplicating in order to satisfy an influential being’s standards? He will not lower himself so.  
  
“I’m not asking you to visit him again,” Nino says later. He has, thankfully, given Jun a couple of minutes to quell his temper. One of these days, Jun believes it will get the best of him. “Last time, you were at a disadvantage since it was Sakurai’s home court.”  
  
Jun faces Nino, eyes narrowing at the suggestion. “You think I can get him to join the company of a man with a target on his back?” He laughs, devoid of amusement and full of dryness. “No one will be so stupid to not realize what I’m doing. As soon as I invite him, he’s going to know.”  
  
Nino suddenly smiles, which Jun frowns at. The timing for it is rather ill. “Not when he’s approaching you himself,” Nino says, bowing. In apology or something else, Jun can’t fathom. He’s preoccupied with piecing together Nino’s words. “He responded, thanking you for the tulips.”  
  
Nino heads for the door and inclines his head at one of their men, who hands him something that he cradles with care. “He even sent a card to go with it. Unopened as always, but we triple-checked it for any kind of poison and found none. Nevertheless, if you would prefer that I take a look at it first…”  
  
“Unnecessary,” Jun says immediately. “Give it here.”  
  
Nino turns to face him once more, and Jun sees it: erected in a rectangular pot made of jade, a small tree that’s not even in full bloom yet. It soon will be, given the season, but it’s already beautiful enough to take Jun’s attention away.  
  
Nino carefully places the pot on his desk and hands the envelope to his waiting hands. Jun can’t take his eyes off the sakura bonsai and its pink flowers in varying states of bloom.  
  
He opens the envelope quickly, tearing the seal without finesse. He flips the card open and begins reading, unsure of what to feel.  
  
_Matsumoto-kun,_ it reads in keigo written in the same script as the last time, _thank you for the tulips. I decided to preserve them on account of the rarity that I receive such gifts. I feel touched that you took the time to procure them for me, so I did the same: it’s fifty years old (or so they told me), still blooming, and now yours._  
  
It’s signed with Sakurai’s name and stamp like the last one, and Jun reads it twice before folding it back and tucking it inside its envelope. Unlike the last time in which he’d asked for a lighter from Nino, he places the envelope inside the pocket of his suit jacket, the material pressed close to his heart.  
  
“I know nothing about these things,” Nino says, gesturing to the small tree and breaking the silence between them. “But they have the image of costing a fortune.”  
  
Jun shakes his head. “Not as expensive as you’d think it is.” It’s a tiny tree and not in full bloom, only fifty years of age. It must have cost less than a million. Nothing for Sakurai, but definitely more expensive than the tulips Jun sent his way.  
  
Still, it’s the one thing he’s always wanted. He was considering shopping for the thing by the end of the month, but that was before the attempt on his life took place. Now that he’d forgotten about it, here it is. Delivered to his doorstep, handpicked by Sakurai Sho as he implied in his scented card. It’s stunning and Jun can’t resist reaching out and touching it, fingers skimming over the small flowers.  
  
He doesn’t know what to say. He has received far more expensive gifts in the past—a hundred-year old katana originating from a renowned samurai that he found no use for except for an additional decor, a cellar-full of expensive wine that he is yet to open, jewelries made of precious metals and stones that are too extravagant for his tastes.  
  
This gift, however, is something he was thinking of getting for himself. He never imagined anyone would take the time to select something for him, something that fits right with his predilection.  
  
“Did he want something?” Nino asks when Jun sticks to silence and allows his thoughts to consume him for a moment.  
  
“No.” Jun sits on the edge of his desk, fingers tracing the tiny branches. “He thanked me for the tulips and said this is now mine.” He focuses on Nino. “This is one of the things that he had his men look up, isn’t it? My passion for such things?”  
  
Nino inclines his head, the action not really denoting anything. “Perhaps. Perhaps not. He has the connections. I won’t be surprised if he has a list of your favorite meals arranged alphabetically.”  
  
That makes Jun crack a smile. “He won’t go so far.” Maybe Sakurai was simply sending him a gift. There was no mention of the attempt made on Jun’s life, but since the tree was sent a week after the incident, Jun thinks that part of Sakurai’s message ought to go unsaid.  
  
“I don’t know, Jun-kun, he sent you the exact kind of tree that you couldn’t stop talking about since you found out about it,” Nino tells him. Nino might be exaggerating, but since Jun only recently got into bonsais and their allure, he might be on to something.  
  
“What are you saying?” Jun asks, fingers caressing petals.  
  
“Maybe you don’t need to get Sakurai Sho’s attention,” Nino says, and his voice sounds convinced—sure. Nino’s eyes narrow at him, lips curling in amusement. “Maybe you already have it.”  
  
Jun has realized that himself, but he was waiting for Nino to call it out because Nino is rarely wrong. If Nino saw it, it might be really there. “Nino,” he says, turning his gaze back to the tiny tree and smiling at the sight and feel of it under his hand.  
  
“Yes?” Nino says, already standing at attention and awaiting his order.  
  
“I think it’s time to open one of Yamaguchi-kun’s wines,” he says, nodding at Nino’s understanding expression. “Send him an invite.”  
  
Nino bows as an acknowledgement and leaves his office quietly, shutting the door behind him.  
  
Jun stares at the sakura tree for a while and decides that his desk can use more color. He moves the jade pot to his ideal position and leaves it there, knowing it will last longer than the white lily he took from Sakurai’s house.  
  
\--  
  
Maintenance, Jun finds, is far more challenging than the idea of creation. It’s easy to mold something and give life to it. However, maintaining it, nurturing it and letting it grow—that requires careful planning and deft hands. He can’t attain success if he’s uncertain. The attempt on his life merely caused him to take extra precautions, but his plans remain in motion. The reestablishment of his family name’s status and hold in the business remains as his most important goal, and Jun is not a fool to lose sight of his ambition just because of one poorly aimed poison dart.  
  
Jun’s first dinner with Sakurai Sho happens in a restaurant that’s under his name. He doesn’t dare accept Sakurai’s invitations to dine somewhere else, instead insisting that he is yet to repay the man’s graciousness and hospitality for his gift.  
  
“I wasn’t under the impression that you liked it that much,” Sakurai says across the table, smile twisted by the flute of champagne he has pressed against his mouth. He’s dressed in a yukata of simpler design than the last time—black silken fabric embroidered with a golden dragon at the back. Jun only caught sight of it when he allowed Sakurai to walk ahead of him as they entered the establishment earlier.  
  
Jun is dressed in a three-piece suit, something that Aiba picked for him. Nino lacks the talent in picking suits, while Aiba seems to know exactly what would look perfect on Jun. He’s wearing a purple tie and his necklace is hidden underneath his dress shirt.  
  
“Please,” Jun says, allowing himself a small smile. “You knew exactly what I wanted.”  
  
Sakurai smiles, teeth hitting the rim of his champagne flute before he takes a sip. “I’m glad that the attempt on your life didn’t go as planned.” He sets his drink down, fingers now drumming against the table’s surface. “Otherwise I wouldn’t have seen you again.”  
  
Jun can recognize the barely-concealed flirting. “I’m very fortunate to have Nino around.”  
  
“Is he your secretary? A trained bodyguard?” There is curiosity in Sakurai’s voice, but his questions are also laced with something else. It’s impossible that he doesn’t know Nino’s position in Jun’s life given his connections, but Jun indulges him as they wait for their food.  
  
“A right-hand man of sorts,” Jun explains. “He does many things that are beyond his job description.”  
  
Sakurai’s eyes narrow at that, the corner of his mouth twitching. It makes Jun smile.  
  
Let him interpret that however he wants, Jun thinks. He’s not going to clarify anything, instead remain vague until Sakurai prods him with all he’s got.  
  
“I can imagine,” Sakurai says, not bothering to mask that he’s mostly lying. Jun likes the slight chagrin he can hear. “What was it that tried to kill you? Poisoned apple?”  
  
“Close,” Jun says, tilting his head and baring the side of his neck. “Poison dart.” He points to the spot it would have hit and taps on the skin thrice. “Aimed right here.”  
  
He doesn’t miss the way Sakurai’s eyes follow his finger and remain on his neck. “And? No other attempts since then?”  
  
“None.” Jun straightens in his seat. He already removed his suit jacket earlier, and now he proceeds to roll the sleeves of his shirt up to allow more movement. “None to my knowledge,” he amends. Everything he eats and drinks are being closely monitored now. For all he knows, there might a man or two who have already died under his name that Nino didn’t bother to inform him about.  
  
“Any idea regarding the motive?” Sakurai asks, partaking in his champagne once more. Jun is yet to touch his. “The last time someone wanted to kill me, it was, regretfully, a family member.”  
  
Jun nods, remembering the story. Sakurai didn’t hesitate to have that one executed. Blood relation doesn’t hold any meaning to him. Traitors are traitors. It’s admirable, that he can be so ruthless despite such a kind face. Jun is aware that his face gives the more unfavorable impression compared to Sakurai’s.  
  
“I have no remaining family members left,” he says.  
  
One of Sakurai’s unruly eyebrows quirks. “You have an elder sister.”  
  
“She’s an ocean away,” Jun says. Alaska, last time he checked, which was a week or two ago. She was Nino’s first suspect, but she was apparently cruising somewhere in Alaska, away from the chaos after changing her family name. She has undoubtedly forgotten about her heritage and him by extension. “You’re not the first one to suspect her.”  
  
“I don’t enjoy overlapping ideas with anyone,” Sakurai says, face scrunching minutely in irritation. “Any other suspect?”  
  
Jun smiles and says nothing, and he sees Sakurai’s eyes narrowing at him.  
  
“Ah,” Sakurai says, and he suddenly laughs, the sound echoing around them. The restaurant is empty as another precaution, but the establishment is surrounded by Jun’s men and a few of Sakurai’s trusted ones. “Is that why you invited me to dinner? And I was thinking you’re finally interested in me.”  
  
Jun picks up his champagne flute and samples it. Sakurai had a few now, and if it was poisoned, he would have died already. “Come now, Sakurai-san,” he says, licking his lips to savor the champagne, “you knew exactly why I invited you tonight.”  
  
Sakurai is still smiling, showing off his perfect teeth. There are laugh lines surrounding his eyes, and he looks genuinely delighted. “Aside from your apparent happiness over the gift and suspecting me to be behind the murder attempt, I’m afraid you have to elaborate. You’ve offered me food only to express your distrust before said food arrived. I’m rather famished, but if I truly wanted to kill you, did you seriously believe that I’d stoop so low and mix something in your food, knowing full well we’re going to partake in the same thing?”  
  
Jun lets out a laugh, not out of spite. “Don’t put words in my mouth,” he says, keeping a playful tone. “I never said I was suspecting you.”  
  
“Anyone in their right mind would,” Sakurai tells him. “But then again, why would I give you something you’re truly passionate about if I wanted you dead? What’s the point?”  
  
Jun shrugs his shoulders. “You tell me, Sakurai-san.” He leans forward, bracing himself on his forearm as he peers into Sakurai’s eyes. “Why did you send me that tree?”  
  
“I thought you would like it,” Sakurai answers smoothly, flashing him the same charming smile. “I had to go look for one that would suit you, hence the delayed response over the tulips. It’s not the most expensive one out of all the trees they presented to me, but I thought it was fitting for you.”  
  
Jun raises an eyebrow at that. “Fitting for me?” He scoffs. “You don’t even know me.”  
  
“And that’s why I’m having dinner with you,” Sakurai says, raising his champagne flute in Jun’s direction before taking another sip.  
  
Jun would have to give that one to Sakurai—he handled that really well. Jun considers himself adept at knowing what people want from him, but like him, Sakurai is keeping his cards close. The lingering stares he’s getting so far give him nothing.  
  
Their food arrives, and as a precaution, the chef who personally prepared and delivered it samples it first. Sakurai doesn’t take his eyes off Jun as it happens, and when the chef finally excuses himself after giving them both a generous serving, Jun inclines his head.  
  
“After you,” he says, and Sakurai laughs.  
  
“If we’re going to work together, you need to trust me,” Sakurai says, but he samples his food anyway, smiling all the while.  
  
“Trust is earned, not given.” Jun picks up his knife and fork and starts cutting his steak. He partakes, and can’t help giving a satisfied hum at the taste.  
  
Jun looks up and sees Sakurai enjoying his food. At least, that’s what it looks like. “This is really good,” Sakurai praises, smiling at him once more. Jun is starting to get used to seeing them.  
  
“On behalf of my chef, I’m thanking you for that comment,” Jun says. He resumes eating, sneaking fleeting glances in Sakurai’s direction, who looks as if there’s nothing that makes him happier other than eating.  
  
Sakurai has to swallow what he’s chewing in order to get some words out. “Did the police say anything regarding the failed assassination?”  
  
“You and I both know that the police force in this city is merely a decoration,” Jun states. Sakurai laughs. “I’d be a fool to consider them; they can’t help me if they’re working for my enemies.”  
  
What use is the police force, Jun thinks. They’re all paid men. There are divisions of them that are working for Jun, handling the investigation of his case as discreetly as they can. But in the end, Jun knows that if a man that’s not working for him uncovers the truth, it will lead to another attempt on his life, a more elaborately planned scheme.  
  
He’s not too trusting at this point. He values his life and he won’t be taken for a fool.  
  
“Do you welcome your enemies to your table?” Sakurai asks him, smiling before biting off a piece of lamb meat. “Like you did on your nameday?”  
  
“Would you have fallen for a trick like that?” Jun asks back. He’s still mildly surprised they received Sakurai’s yes two days after Nino had sent the invite. Sakurai is the man who refused to attend Jun’s inauguration, but now he’s here, sharing a meal with Jun like he wouldn’t miss it for the world.  
  
Jun can’t figure him out, and it irks him.  
  
“I told you. I thought you were finally interested in me,” Sakurai says, licking off bits of the sauce that smeared the corner of his mouth. “Was I wrong to consider that possibility?”  
  
Jun hums in mock thought. “Not so wrong.”  
  
Sakurai leans over and smiles, bright and boyish. “Now we’re talking, Matsumoto-kun. If we’re going to do this, I said it before but allow me to remind you once more: you’re going to have to trust me.”  
  
“Trust you not to be the one aiming for my neck?” Jun clarifies.  
  
Sakurai’s grin broadens. “I wouldn’t aim for the neck. I never liked leaving marks or trails for others to follow. Residues are damning; even a drop of blood can bring someone to their knees in a matter of hours.”  
  
Jun takes a long sip of his champagne. “Seems to me you have a lot of experience on this matter, Sakurai-san.”  
  
“I’ve lost count on how many failed assassinations there had been in my first year as a leader.”  
  
Jun isn’t surprised; someone as young as Sakurai (he rose to power before he hit thirty) and having that many assets under his name—he must’ve been quite a target. Jun’s assets are nowhere close to his, and already there is someone out there who wants to do away with him.  
  
“I’m relieved that you managed to remain unmurdered after all these years,” Jun says.  
  
Sakurai laughs, mouth wide open and eyes creased. “Tell you what, Matsumoto-kun. I’ll give you something you won’t hear from anybody else. Call it a free reassurance from me.”  
  
Jun lifts an eyebrow in question. “And what’s that?”  
  
Sakurai Sho licks his lips and smiles at him, and what he says next is what makes Jun decide that if he is to survive, he’s going to need this man’s help.  
  
“If I wanted to kill you, you’d know.”  
  
\--  
  
Jun shares one of Yamaguchi’s fancy wines with Sakurai Sho in his penthouse suite. In a gesture of trust, Sakurai asked the rest of his men to head home and only allowed his right-hand man, a man named Ohno Satoshi, to accompany him. Jun permitted it, and asked Nino to entertain Ohno in the lounge as he and Sakurai headed to his office to discuss plans.  
  
“It suits your desk,” is the first thing Sakurai says, and Jun sees him looking at the bonsai. “Gives it a bit of color.”  
  
“It’s blooming steadily,” Jun informs him, forefinger stroking one branch idly.  
  
He hears Sakurai hum. “You’re very fond of it.”  
  
“It’s a lovely gift, Sakurai-san.” Jun moves to pour the wine for them both and hands Sakurai a glass that’s half-full. “Surely I’ve said that.”  
  
“Hearing and seeing are two different things,” Sakurai says, clinking his glass with Jun’s. “I assume we’ve exchanged enough pleasantries by now?”  
  
Jun exhales and squares his shoulders as he samples the wine. It’s superb, spicy and sweet and lasting as Jun rolls the liquid on his tongue. “I want to find who wants to kill me,” he says, going straight to the point.  
  
Sakurai walks towards one of the massive windows that overlook the city, admiring the cityscapes and illuminated skyscrapers. Jun’s office is dim; they didn’t want to attract attention in case anyone’s watching. They’re two important men and they’re on their way to hatching a plan together as part of their loose alliance. Jun would appreciate it if he or Sakurai doesn’t end up dead mere hours after tonight.  
  
“And when you find him, what will you do?” Sakurai asks, drinking his wine and watching Jun’s reflection in the window. “Kill him? Make a show for it? Take everything they own for yourself before throwing them in exile?”  
  
“I’m currently undecided,” Jun admits, admiring the pattern meticulously embroidered on Sakurai’s yukata. The lack of light makes the dragon look more sinister than it is. “Seeing as I have yet to find the person responsible, I’m not thinking that far ahead. Not yet.”  
  
He hears Sakurai hum in consideration. “And what exactly do you want from me, Matsumoto-kun? Or are you also undecided about that?” His reflection is smiling, and Jun can almost see his teeth shine under the moonlight.  
  
Jun hates that he’s not a gifted talker. His honesty is the only thing he has, and he never learned the art of sweet-talking when it comes to relevant matters. He has nothing to offer but the truth, and he dislikes that saying it will make him appear needy.  
  
But that’s what he has to do.  
  
“I need your help,” he says, not elaborating yet.  
  
“In finding your killer? Why?” Sakurai finishes his wine and turns to face him, the lights outside highlighting his rather angular shoulders. Jun can’t see most of his face anymore; it’s obscured by shadows. “They’re not after me. I’m not the one they want dead. If I help you, that’s going to change. Why should I lend a hand when I know it’s going to endanger my own life?”  
  
“You have the resources that I don’t,” Jun acknowledges. He vows to himself that this is the first and the last time he would say that out loud. “I’m not asking you to risk your life for me, Sakurai-san. That’s a bit too much. But you have the connections that I don’t, a certain hold on the police force that I don’t.”  
  
Sakurai takes the liberty of pouring himself another glass of wine, the drink sloshing as he mixes it by flicking his wrist. “What’s in it for me? You’ve been evading this question since we got to the point of the dinner. You’re right, I can help you. I have most of what you don’t. But what’s in it for me? I have everything I need without attracting danger. And now you’re asking me to change that.”  
  
Jun takes a deep breath. He doesn’t have anything of value. Sakurai doesn’t need his money or any of his assets. Jun doesn’t have anything to offer him, if he’s being honest. Aside from Sakurai’s interest on him, there’s really nothing much.  
  
“Whoever wants me dead is not going to stop with me,” Jun says. He knows that to be true even without anyone telling him. “When I’m dead, he’s going to come for my allies. You’re one of those, and one of the truly influential ones. I imagine it’s going to be similar to working one’s way up the ladder—it’s not going to end with me; it’s going to start with me.”  
  
“Do you care about my life?” Sakurai asks, the hints of a laugh crossing his features.  
  
“No,” Jun replies honestly.  
  
“Everyone in this city wants me dead, so you’re not different from them. Every leader out there wants me gone so they can grab what I have for themselves. With me out of the picture, things will be easier for them. Free reign on the port—imagine the shootouts every time there’s a delivery—, my territory a battle zone.” Sakurai chuckles, shoulders quaking. “Isn’t it odd, that we’re all in the same line of work, but I’m someone who promotes order in the midst of chaos?”  
  
Jun drinks his wine to collect his thoughts. Nino didn’t give him much about Sakurai Sho prior to this meeting. Nino only told him that he knows what he has to do, and that the night shouldn’t conclude with Jun not getting that.  
  
“If I die,” Jun begins, uttering each word with impassiveness, “they’re going to come after someone else next. Someone more important. If I die, they’re going to get to you soon. All that you worked hard for—the order you established, the territory you’re protecting, the assets you’ve amassed over the years—they’ll be gone in a blink of an eye.”  
  
Jun approaches Sakurai in easy, confident strides. He stops when he can actually see the expression on Sakurai’s face: a mixture of amusement and wonder. “You didn’t create a name for yourself just to have it vanish in a fortnight.”  
  
Sakurai’s face breaks into a smile, showing Jun his teeth. “If I help you, I’m also protecting my own hide. That’s essentially what you’re saying, yes?”  
  
Jun wets his lips, resisting the urge to smile when he sees Sakurai’s eyes follow the movement of his tongue. “Yes.” He inclines his head. “It’s not much. You’re not really getting something out of this. I can acknowledge that. But on account of my father’s support of your claim when you decided to take what’s always been yours, will you not extend me the same courtesy?”  
  
“I’m not very merciful, Matsumoto-kun,” Sakurai says, expression unreadable now. “Nor very sympathetic.”  
  
Jun shuts his eyes, prepared to accept his defeat.  
  
“But I can be convinced,” Sakurai tells him, and that makes Jun look at him.  
  
“Shall we shake on it to make it official?” Sakurai offers, smirking around the rim of his wine glass.  
  
Jun can only stare at him, take in his bemused expression and the way his eyes are almost dancing. Sakurai must’ve enjoyed making him believe otherwise.  
  
Jun believes he’ll never figure the man out.  
  
“What’s in it for you?” Jun asks, unable to stave the curiosity any longer. His eyes narrow just as Sakurai’s smile broadens. If Sakurai wants something from him, won’t he be clear about it once and for all? Jun hates being kept in the dark. If he doesn’t know, how can he deliver?  
  
“Does it matter what I want?” Sakurai gulps the rest of his wine and licks off a stray droplet that almost trickled down his chin. “If we’re both after the same end—which is you staying alive—, does it really matter what I get out of it?”  
  
Jun isn’t convinced, and he doesn’t bother to hide it from his expression. “It does to me, in case you’re expecting to get something in return. How can I meet your expectations if I’m not privy to them in the first place?”  
  
“Always seeking to impress,” Sakurai comments, lips curling to a slow smile. “Always so impatient. If you’re going to play this game with them, Matsumoto-kun, you need to control that temper. You need to learn how to wait.”  
  
“Wait?” Jun’s eyebrow quirks. “Wait for what? For them to kill me?”  
  
Sakurai looks appalled at the suggestion. He laughs. “Of course not. The goal here is for you not to die. But they won’t stop at one dart and the more failed attempts they have, the more desperate they’re going to get.”  
  
Jun doesn’t mask the disapproval on his face, brows knitting. “You want to use me as bait.”  
  
“Well, they are after you,” Sakurai says, chuckling a little. “We have to flush them out. And what better way than using the one person they want to kill the most right now?”  
  
Jun can’t fault his logic. The easiest way to weed out the traitor is to dangle Jun right in front of their noses and make them frustrated with each failure. Which means they have to fail, or else Jun is dead.  
  
“I can’t die,” Jun says, leaning closer to Sakurai’s space. “If I die, you’re back at square one. You want to find who wants me dead because the sooner he’s gone, the fewer threats there are in the future.” Jun peers into Sakurai’s eyes before he smiles, his first since they got here in his office. “You won’t let me die.”  
  
“Now you’re trusting me,” Sakurai says quietly, since they’re close enough. He sounds pleased.  
  
“Don’t make me regret it,” Jun says, finishing his wine in one gulp. He licks his lips to savor the taste, enjoying the pleasant buzz of sweetness now coating his tongue.  
  
He catches Sakurai looking at his mouth, and he waits.  
  
Sakurai turns away, placing his glass on Jun’s desk and keeping his back to Jun. “I’ll have Satoshi-kun put some men to work. I can perhaps get back to you before the week ends.”  
  
“Do you require another dinner by that time?” Jun asks, staring once more at the design on Sakurai’s yukata. He thinks he can memorize every intricate stitch after tonight.  
  
Sakurai waves his hand in the direction of the opened wine bottle. “Wine would do. But only if I get to share it with you.”  
  
Jun wants to roll his eyes, unsure if Sakurai truly finds him attractive or is merely fucking with him. Either way, he can’t really afford the distraction. “If I’m still alive, then yes, perhaps.”  
  
“I would appreciate it if you remain unmurdered,” Sakurai says, using the same term Jun did when they had dinner. Jun can hear the smile in his tone even with his back turned to Jun still.  
  
“Then we should both see to it that I will.” Jun approaches him, and Sakurai turns around when he’s close enough.  
  
Jun offers the man his hand, who smiles at the sight of it before taking it and giving Jun a firm shake. Sakurai’s palm is warm and his grip is strong, another contradiction to the softness his face has.  
  
“Please keep me in your favor, Matsumoto-kun,” Sakurai says formally, and it makes Jun return his grin.  
  
“Likewise, Sakurai-san.”  
  
\--  
  
Jun hears a hiss close to his ear and ducks instinctively, but there seems to be a crushing weight that’s holding his body down. Moving his limbs is a gruelling task for reasons unknown. He takes note of his surroundings. He’s crouching down, breath coming in gasps. He’s alive, but he doesn’t know for how long.  
  
He looks around, squinting in the darkness. He’s barefoot with a thick mat under his feet, and there are dozens of mats covering the polished floor.  
  
He’s back in the training grounds.  
  
Another hiss and he rolls to the side, adrenaline pumping in his veins. He can’t see much. It’s too dark, and he isn’t wearing his contacts. Whoever’s attacking him, he can’t see them—they’re moving too fast.  
  
But he’s safe for now; he’s alive. He doesn’t know what they’re attacking him with. But they’re here to hurt him, and he has to defend himself. He checks his person for any weapons and finds none, only that he’s wearing a black tank top and training pants.  
  
He hears the soft sound of a blade cutting through the silence and he jumps on instinct, knowing it has to be aiming for his feet. He catches the glint of metal and he whips his head to follow it, but it blends with the darkness and vanishes from his sight.  
  
Jun concentrates. He’s in the training grounds. What did he do to survive the last time he was here?  
  
Get up, he tells himself. Find a way out. Don’t let them taunt you.  
  
The next time he hears a strike aimed at his direction, he rolls forward and gets on his feet. He sprints, relying on nothing but his functioning senses. He can hear his raging heartbeat against his ears, pulse rate escalating as he tries to find his way out.  
  
It’s strange that he feels extremely claustrophobic in a room so spacious. He looks back to check if someone’s after him and sees none, but he hears another hiss above his head and he sidesteps before running faster.  
  
When he turns his gaze forward, there’s the door. Made of oak and heavy, but Jun slams his body against it to push it open, and it gives. He grunts in effort since the doors seem to grow heavier the more force he applies, but finally he’s able to create an opening wide enough for his body to slip through.  
  
The light is blinding.  
  
Jun has to squeeze his eyes shut and blink repeatedly to get used to it. After the looming darkness from earlier, this bright, white light is making his eyes water. He shields his eyes with his arm, taking cautious steps forward.  
  
He doesn’t remember this corridor.  
  
He hears the click of a gun and he dashes, nearly stumbling in his haste. The floor is tiled and slippery, but Jun knows he has to get away. Whoever’s pursuing him hasn’t given up.  
  
There’s the deafening sound of a gun fired that pierces the air, and Jun drops to his knees immediately. It didn’t hit him, but he can’t see any bullet marks in any of his surroundings. He gets to his feet and runs, and when his footing slips and he plants face down to the ground, he uses his arms to push himself back up.  
  
He can taste blood in his mouth.  
  
Must be from the fall, he assures himself. You fell. That’s where it’s from.  
  
He spits to get rid of the unpleasant metallic taste, fresh red blood staining the otherwise spotless floor. Despite his efforts, the iron floods his tongue and he wants to puke, but he has to get away.  
  
Priorities, he thinks, full of determination. Priorities first. Get out of here. Get out while you still can. While you’re still whole.  
  
He tries to stand but he stumbles, tripping over something nonexistent in his haste to get away. His knees hit the ground and he spits another mouthful of blood, bright and crimson that somehow stays in his mouth.  
  
When Jun shuffles to his feet, there’s warmth pooling on his stomach, and he looks down, finds himself bleeding. His sleeveless top gets soaked in dark blood, the black material sticking to his body as the overwhelming scent of iron floods his senses.  
  
Has he been shot? Stabbed? He doesn’t know. He didn’t feel a thing.  
  
He touches the wound and hisses, seeing red, red, red color his hands, staining his fingers. Breathing seems to be a task, coming in short gasps, and his throat is parched. Everything starts to hurt as his vision blurs, and he sinks to his knees, pressing his palms against his profusely bleeding stomach. His blood feels too warm, scalding even, but he has to apply to pressure to stop the flow.  
  
His eyes sting and he blinks, inwardly cursing the pain under his eyelids. He can see nothing but red—streaking the floor around him, bathing his hands and leaving them sticky, soaking his clothes. He can smell death, can feel its breath too close, ghosting his nape and making his hair stand.  
  
Am I going to die like this, he thinks, angry with himself for not being fast or observant enough.  
  
Despite the warmth spreading on his palms, it’s so cold. Jun shivers, trembles before he can help it. His body is his only source of heat, and it’s rapidly leaving him as he continues to bleed. His breaths are short and shallow, and he can no longer hear his heartbeat. All he feels is cold and the harsh bite of it, kissing his skin and leaving trails of gooseflesh in its wake.  
  
He feels something like a fist lock around his throat, cutting off his air and making his lungs ache, and he takes one last surge of dying breath before he manages to wake.  
  
Jun sits up on his bed, panting and touching the skin of his throat, fingers wrapping around the column. He’s sweating, cold perspiration traveling from his hairline down to the sides of his face, his neck, past his shoulders and across his back. The sheets under him are drenched, the blankets kicked off the bed and in a messy pile on the floor.  
  
The digital clock on his nightstand ticks, and he sees that it’s 3:42 in the morning.  
  
A dream. He shakes his head, blinks multiple times to assure himself that he’s awake, alive, breathing. Whole. He puts his hand inside his shirt and touches the skin there, finding it smooth and unbroken.  
  
It’s just a dream, he tells himself, the shudders not quite leaving him yet. He’s alone in bed, out of breath and still so cold. He never liked his dreams. There’s always someone who wants to do him harm. Always someone who wants to hurt him, ruin him, wreck him. Nothing too different from his reality.  
  
He runs his hands down his face and sighs. His mouth is dry, and he darts out his tongue to moisten his chapped, cracked lips. It burns; his lips sting. His face is too hot.  
  
He swings his legs down the bed and moves to the bathroom, using the heel of his palm to turn the faucet on. His reflection is too pale, dark circles under his eyes, cheeks a little sunken than the last time he took a proper look at himself.  
  
The feeling of cold water against his skin is a momentary relief, and he doesn’t bother to wipe his face as he turns the faucet off. If he is still trapped in a dream, he waits to see if his face will melt away.  
  
He feels exactly how he looks: exhausted despite popping sleeping pills in order to get some sleep, mind working on overdrive.  
  
I can’t show weakness, he thinks, pressing his forehead against the mirror, eyes shut tight. I can’t be weak. Not now. It’s what they want from me. They want me to crumble. I can’t.  
  
He opens his eyes and pulls back to stare at his face, pale and looking so lost, ignorant, and aimless.  
  
He runs his hand against the mirror’s surface, the side of his palm applying pressure across his own face, like he wants to erase his reflection and do away with a proof of his weakness.  
  
I won’t, he vows, leaning back in satisfaction when the face that stares back at him starts to look like someone he knows.  
  
\--  
  
The dreams rarely come, but they hardly leave.  
  
That’s what the sleeping pills are for. Since the poison dart, sleep has become even more evasive, sometimes requiring Jun to take two tablets of the medication before he manages to find rest. He was raised never to fear death and to expect it at every turn, but only a fool wouldn’t fear it, he believes. He’s afraid because he’s not yet done with what he wants to accomplish. The possibility of not being able to put his plans in motion terrifies him.  
  
I need more time, he thinks. But that’s not up to me.  
  
That thought proves true when one of his men dies at his feet.  
  
As a precaution, Nino has long asked certain people to sample his food before serving it to him, allotting a grace period of an hour in case there’s a slow-acting poison slipped in his meal or in his drink.  
  
Jun doesn’t know the name or the face of the man whose mouth is frothing, body quaking involuntarily as the poison acts. Jun can only stare, mind blank and emotions absent, as the man turns blue and starts bleeding from his nose, mouth, and eyes.  
  
Nino’s grip on him is tight and commanding, already wanting to take him somewhere safe, but Jun can’t tear his gaze away. He doesn’t know this man. Doesn’t know how he came to work for Jun, who hired him, what his actual job was. And yet he’s dying at Jun’s feet, having tasted first what was supposed to be for Jun.  
  
“Find the chef and everyone who handled tonight’s meal,” Nino orders, resulting to a series of agreements followed by footsteps, men shuffling around them.  
  
“Jun-kun?” Nino asks, shaking his shoulders for a moment. “Jun-kun, we have to go. You can’t stay here.”  
  
He should’ve known better. Jun had returned to his ancestral home to retrieve a couple of ledgers, but he had also entertained an impromptu meeting with Matsuoka, one of his long-time clients. It ran past schedule and he had no choice but to eat here, seeing as he still wasn’t able to conclude his original business.  
  
The idea of food isn’t inviting anymore, as he looks at some of his men hauling the dead body away.  
  
“Is this all of them?” he asks Nino, when they’re finally out of the dining room and all the kitchen personnel are lined up in front of him. Most of them are trembling, perhaps out of shock because of the recent death or out of fright for the upcoming one. Someone has to pay. A life for a life.  
  
“Yes,” Nino says, after confirming it with Toma, the head butler of the ancestral house. Toma is around Jun’s age, but he succeeded his father in the position and is now maintaining the house. All affairs should have gone through him, and Jun wonders how a poisoned meal manage to slip past his radar.  
  
Jun extends his hand and Nino automatically places a revolver on it. He never liked getting his hands dirty, but he has yet to show an example. He knows that some of his men view him as someone spineless and weak.  
  
Time to prove them wrong, he thinks as he cocks the gun.  
  
He lets Nino and Toma handle the interrogation since they’re more experienced. He paces the hallway, spinning the revolver around his forefinger as he listens to what each of the kitchen staff has to say.  
  
It’s all the same. They’re claiming they had no knowledge of the poison, that the food they prepared was handled with the same amount of care. It goes back and forth until Jun grows tired of it, and he aims the gun at the nearest wall and pulls the trigger, startling everyone and causing most of the kitchen personnel to either scream or jump out of surprise.  
  
“Did you throw away the meal that was intended for me and whatever’s left of it?” he asks Toma, who merely blinks at the new hole on the wall. He’s undoubtedly thinking of how to repair it.  
  
“No,” Toma answers with a polite bow. “Not yet. Would you like for me to retrieve it?”  
  
“As a matter of fact, I do. Go get all the serving, all they’ve prepared for tonight,” Jun says. Toma heads off, and Jun turns to Nino. “They won’t admit it. On account of their seeming honesty, I feel that we ought to reward them. We can’t let the food go to waste.”  
  
Nino’s eyes narrow in understanding and he only nods before facing the kitchen staff. “Please finish what you’ve prepared for Matsumoto-san as he has lost his appetite.”  
  
The staff panics at that, eyes growing wide. Jun is not certain whether it was only the serving handed to him that poisoned, but he’ll find out now. He’ll make them eat everything. Every time he eats in this house, they always prepare more than one serving, accustomed to the practices of a shared meal back when Jun’s father was still alive and functioning. Jun’s ancestral home used to be a livelier place, his father’s mistresses staying in all of the guest rooms.  
  
Jun sent them all away as soon as the old man died, and promised to kill anyone who dared show up his doorstep.  
  
“Eat,” Jun orders, when the food has been laid out and arranged in the dining table once more, the kitchen staff seated. Their eyes are pleading, but Jun is fuming at the recent attempt on his life. “Eat, before I force you.”  
  
If they all live past this, then someone slipped the poison in his food. Nino, Toma, and the rest of his men remain watching, and Jun observes which one of the kitchen personnel would dare pick up their spoon ahead of everybody else.  
  
Eventually they reluctantly eat, following the example of one. Jun catalogs the man’s face in his mind, and when all the food is gone and consumed and nothing happens, Jun smiles.  
  
“Stand,” he says to the first one who dared to partake. “Step back from the table.”  
  
Jun meets Nino’s eyes and Nino moves, pressing his gun to the man’s back, hand twisting the man’s arm up his back to immobilize him.  
  
“Whose idea was it?” Nino demands against the man’s ear, who continues to struggle. Toma steps in to help Nino hold the man down, and Jun only watches. “Who?”  
  
The man laughs, sinister as he locks eyes with Jun. “How did you know it was me?”  
  
Jun doesn’t even blink. “You’re the only one who was confident enough to lift that spoon to your mouth, knowing that it won’t kill you.” They hired a sloppy man for the job, overconfident and incompetent. The longer Jun looks at him, the more it bores him.  
  
He looks at Nino. “Get whatever you can and report it to me. And when you’re done, kill him.” Much as he’d like to know, he really has no time. This is the second time he’s been targeted in his father’s house. The sooner he is out of here, the better his chances are at staying alive.  
  
He leaves for his father’s office and starts gathering the ledgers he needs. He packs them carefully, marking the pages that need to be looked at as soon as he’s somewhere safe.  
  
Not too long, he hears a single gunshot accompanied by squeals, the sound akin to an arrow that pierces swiftly through the silence.  
  
Jun shuts his eyes, knowing full well that if he manages to find sleep tonight, he’s going to see two dead men—one shot for conspiring against him, one poisoned for believing in him.  
  
Either way, there’s always someone dying or dead. That’s another thing about his dreams.  
  
They hardly change.  
  
\--  
  
Amber trickles down Jun’s wrist when he misses as he tips over the bottle of brandy to fill a glass. He clicks his tongue in annoyance and grips the bottle tighter, directing the liquid to the right container.  
  
Nino informed him that the man who tried to kill him was a runner—nothing more than an errand boy. Said man got inside the house by masquerading as a kitchen staff; the original one is still nowhere to be found. The one who tried to poison Jun didn’t crack, not even seconds before Nino blew his brains out.  
  
A mere errand boy, slipping past his radar and defenses, actually managing to murder one of those loyal to him.  
  
Jun seethes at the thought of it, and to resist the urge of smashing something, he floods his throat with the burn of alcohol. This particular brand gets him through on most nights, when his temper is difficult to subdue and it’s as if he will snap in a matter of seconds.  
  
He is alone in his apartment, standing in front of his mini bar, clad only in a dress shirt and slacks, necklace hanging on his neck. He never takes it off even when he goes to bed, and right now there’s this urge to pull it and hurl it towards the nearest wall.  
  
This piece of jewelry damned him. Damned his men, the stability he thought he had. Whatever efforts he’s exerting to find his killer, they’re not enough. Even with Sakurai’s help, one got too close to him. It hits harder than the poison dart; nobody died then. Jun has seen so many deaths, but this is the first time someone died _for_ him, and he doesn’t know how to take it.  
  
He has killed men. Shot them, stabbed them, strangled them, left them to die. He’s done everything they deemed to be part of his survival training back when they were still grooming him to be the heartless heir. He’s known death—came too close to it twice lately.  
  
So why, he asks himself, does this event make everything taste like ash? He opted for brandy instead of wine because he wanted the burn, but not even that can hurt him enough for him to stop feeling. He feels too much. That’s always been his curse.  
  
Emotions are abundant in him. It shows in the way he takes care of his possessions. His books are stacked neatly in a shelf close to his bed, arranged from most favorite to the least. His prized paintings—talent he saw and procured for himself—adorned the walls of his apartment, each picture giving him a different kind of welcome every time he looks at them.  
  
He feels too much and too often. The first and only time his father hit him, he also received a lecture regarding sentiment. Since then, Jun put in the effort to hide how he feels. He keeps his face indifferent, devoid of any palpable reaction if he can.  
  
And when he’s finally alone, that’s when he opens the dam and allows it to consume him, even for a while.  
  
He lifts the glass to his lips, wishing his mouth is wounded somewhere so the sting is more perceptible. He wants it to hurt, because that kind of hurt is something he can pinpoint. He can concentrate on it if it exists, direct all his attention there until he lets it all out.  
  
People are dying, he thinks. And regardless of the sides they’re in, they’re dying because of me.  
  
He remembers what Sakurai told him some nights ago, when the moon cast a light in his office and showed him a glimpse of Sakurai’s interest in him.  
  
“I’m not very sympathetic,” Sakurai said. Jun wishes he can say the same for himself. It’s his flaw. He was trained to be the heartless heir, and he became it. But once he cast off the title of the heir for something greater and assumed the role that was expected of him, he realized that he’s not as heartless as he thought.  
  
It’s easier when he’s the one ending lives. It’s all in his hands, under his control. He knows what to do when he has to kill someone. He never killed anyone who didn’t deserve it. Either because of sins against his father or possession of differing views that would be lethal if given the chance to grow, Jun snuffed out the flame before it could set the surroundings ablaze.  
  
He downs the rest of his drink and ignores the painful rush of alcohol to his head. He’s going to nurse a migraine tomorrow, but it matters not. He’ll worry about it tomorrow. He welcomes it. The headache can divert his attention elsewhere, remind him that despite the throbbing pain, despite this night of weakness, he lives.  
  
Nino told him he’d be the one to inform Sakurai of this development. Nino’s being more careful now, volunteering to deliver news himself to avoid vital information falling in the wrong hands.  
  
Jun’s survival will only make them more desperate. Sakurai was right about that. But with each failure seems to come a death that Jun didn’t expect, and he has no idea how many men are willing to die for him after tonight.  
  
He has to become someone they won’t hesitate to give their life to. Be respectable, cruel to a certain extent, exacting but not unreasonable. He has to be firm.  
  
Jun picks up his phone and dials a number he acquired recently.  
  
Three rings, and he hears a smile before the polite “Yes? What can I do for you, Matsumoto-kun?” from the other line.  
  
Jun pours himself another glass of brandy. “It’s the end of the week.”  
  
A laugh, deep and rumbling, echoes in his ear. “Impatient as always!”  
  
Jun turns the glass in place, listening to the ice making contact against the surface as the liquid sloshes. “I almost died last night, Sakurai-san. I think we need to fast forward our schedule a little.”  
  
He hears a hum. “Yes. Ninomiya-san here is telling me about the incident. Rather unfortunate, isn’t it? A waste of food.” Sakurai clicks his tongue repeatedly. “My least favorite among all assassination attempts. Leave the food alone. It’s disrespectful.”  
  
Sakurai actually sounds offended. But Jun blinks at the piece of information handed to him so easily. “Nino is still there?”  
  
“Do you need him so badly?” Sakurai asks, tone indecipherable. Without seeing his face, he’s harder to read. “I had to deal with another thing first before I had the chance to talk to him. He’s just telling me about the incident in Toshima when you called.”  
  
Jun pauses for a few seconds, taking a sip of brandy. It’s cooler now, and the burn is almost negligible since he’s mostly gotten used to it. “Am I interrupting?”  
  
Sakurai laughs, and Jun can imagine the lines at the corner of his eyes as he hears it. “I’m actually pleased to hear you’re really alive. I doubt that Ninomiya-san here would lie, but he also looks like he doesn’t trust me very much, so I really had no idea what to think.”  
  
Jun scrunches his nose involuntarily at that. Sakurai is saying these things in front of Nino, and Jun can only wonder how Nino’s taking it. Nino’s a master at poker faces, but Nino’s also very frank whenever Jun’s alone with him.  
  
“I’m alive,” Jun says as a reassurance, earning another hearty chuckle from the other line. “So far.”  
  
“I’ll fill Ninomiya-san in regarding what I gathered, how’s that?” Sakurai offers. “It’s quite late, Matsumoto-kun. You sound like you need sleep.”  
  
Jun snorts. It’s instinctive. “Don’t tell me what to do.”  
  
Another laugh. “Please don’t drink yourself to death. We’re trying to avoid anything that might lead to your...untimely elimination.” Jun hears a smile form after Sakurai uttered that, the man undoubtedly amused with himself. “I would appreciate if you cooperate.”  
  
Jun takes a deep breath and holds it in as he contemplates. He exhales to say, “I trust Nino with everything I have.”  
  
A beat. “Is that so?” There’s a change in tone that makes Jun smile a little.  
  
“Please disclose everything of importance to him. Good night, Sakurai-san.”  
  
He cuts the line without waiting for a response, and he finishes the rest of his drink, enjoying the lightheadedness that comes with the last drop. He pops a sleeping pill before heading to bed, trusting the alcohol to potentiate the effects of the medication.  
  
Sleep comes, and Jun, blissfully, doesn’t dream.  
  
\--  
  
The first thing Nino tells him the next morning (after serving him coffee and a plate of toast) makes him blink at Nino repeatedly, wondering if he’s still dreaming. They’re in his office and Jun hasn’t eaten yet, but Nino, as always, procured breakfast for him before he requested entry in the private room.  
  
“Say that again,” Jun orders. He’s always been terrible with mornings, but he knows it won’t remain so for much longer.  
  
“You heard what I said,” Nino answers, crossing his arms in front of him.  
  
Jun puts aside the toast and ignores the inviting aroma of coffee. “Yes. And I’m asking you to repeat it.”  
  
Nino gives him a look. “I think Sakurai Sho is the one trying to kill you.”  
  
At this point, Jun is suspecting everyone, even his longest allies. It’s only fair that Nino suspects Sakurai—a part of Jun is suspecting him as well. But the way Nino said it, he sounds as if he’s thoroughly convinced.  
  
Nino is rarely wrong, and this is something Jun knows thanks to all the years Nino spent by his side. If Nino’s on to something, he has a reason for it. “What made you say that?” Jun asks, frowning now.  
  
Nino shoots a pointed look at the Fuji sakura at the corner of Jun’s desk, blooming and pink and pretty under the natural light that enters through the blinds. Nino doesn’t say a word.  
  
“You think he’s trying to kill me because he sent me a tree?” Jun clarifies, reaching out for the coffee and already anticipating the caffeine boost.  
  
“I talked to him last night,” Nino begins, not tearing his eyes from him. Jun’s coffee is opened, stains marring the rim; Nino already tasted it for him to ensure it’s clean and safe. “And he told me that whoever’s trying to kill you is perhaps not necessarily after your dominance in arms dealership.”  
  
Jun’s eyebrows knit together. That’s his number one asset. It’s natural to think that whoever’s after him is also after that. “And what made Sakurai-san say that?” If Jun is not suspecting everyone, his primary suspect would be Reizei, his number one competitor in that side of the business.  
  
“That’s what I’m wondering about as well,” Nino says, bracing himself on the tabletop now. “When I asked, he said he’s still looking into it and refuses to comment until he’s absolutely sure. I think he’s hiding something. Why else would he be intentionally vague?”  
  
Jun recalls what Sakurai said last night. “He did say you looked like you don’t trust him. Despite my reassurances that he can disclose everything to you, he may have chosen otherwise because of personal reasons.”  
  
Nino’s eyebrow quirks, and soon he’s sneering. “So it’s my fault then? Of course I don’t trust him. I don’t trust anyone. Someone out there wants you dead, Jun-kun. For all we know that could be Toma or Aiba.”  
  
It’s an exaggeration; Jun knows neither Aiba nor Toma would seek to harm him. But Nino’s prone to such declarations to prove his point when he’s dead-set on something, so Jun doesn’t comment on it. “Or Sakurai Sho, according to you.” Jun takes another sip of his coffee, hissing when it scalds the tip of his tongue. “What made you think that, really, aside from him being deliberately obtuse? You’re the one who insisted on getting him for an ally.”  
  
Nino looks down for a moment before meeting his eyes once more. “I actually hadn’t thought of it until I came in to deliver your breakfast.”  
  
That gets Jun’s attention, and he sets the coffee cup down. “Did something arrive?” he asks, dreading the answer.  
  
Nino gives a grim nod. “We always check your mail. Always. And as an extra precaution, I ordered for all the envelopes to be opened as well after the scanners did their work.” Nino sighs; he doesn’t look like he enjoys being the deliverer of bad news. “Sakurai-san sent you another card. He could’ve given it to me last night, but since you said he wasn’t very trusting on account of my not very trusting demeanor, he didn’t.”  
  
Jun shuts his eyes, pushing away his breakfast plate. It doesn’t look palatable or inviting now. “Where’s the envelope?”  
  
“I had it quarantined. Sakurai Sho always sent you scented cards, didn’t he?”  
  
Jun nods.  
  
“The card was doused in a toxic inhalant. One of the men who handled it is now in critical condition. Ricin, according to the scanners. It was absent in the envelope, but it was all over the card. As soon as they opened it, the substance got him.”  
  
Jun opens his eyes and finds Nino looking at him. “The envelope was, as always, addressed to you. I’m actually thankful I had the foresight to tamper with your mail now. If that got here, you’d be the one in ICU, not Ichigaya-kun.”  
  
“You suspect him because of the envelope?” Jun asks quietly, wishing his morning didn’t begin in this manner. But whoever’s after him is impatient and adamant on obliterating him from the game.  
  
“Not just because of the envelope,” Nino says, and Jun sees him pointing to the bonsai in its jade pot. “He sent you that. Do you know what sakura means, Jun-kun?”  
  
Jun’s eyes widen in realization. Of course he knows. It’s part of the things he has read once he became enamored with bonsais. He looked up all the trees he’d love to have, and a sakura tree was most attractive to him for one reason.  
  
“Fleeting life,” Nino says for him, and Jun can feel his blood growing cold at the thought of it. “Short life. It blooms only for a while, doesn’t it? Its beauty is ephemeral, and that only makes it lovelier.”  
  
Sakurai said the same thing regarding his flowers, the first time Jun met him. Jun can’t look at Nino now and settles for staring at his hands, his chunky silver ring.  
  
Did he unwittingly invite the wolf inside? Did he flirt with danger? Is he asking for his own end?  
  
“Once you’re out, no one can contest his hold on the port,” Nino tells him. Jun can only listen now. He can’t breathe a word. “The port was originally under your name, and that gives you a claim to it. Even if it was gifted by your father to Sakurai Sho, it’s originally yours. Without you, there’s no competition. You’re the biggest threat to his strongest asset, do you understand?”  
  
Jun simply nods. He’s always known what Nino is telling him, but still, he feels cheated. Was Sakurai playing him for a fool all this time?  
  
“I need time to think,” is all he says, and Nino’s determined expression shifts to understanding.  
  
“Would you like for me to clear your breakfast?”  
  
Jun agrees, his appetite gone. “Please.”  
  
Nino does, leaving him alone with the harsh truth with a decisive click of his door shutting.  
  
In the resulting silence, Jun picks up the nearest object he can reach—his obsidian paperweight—and hurls it across the room in rage.


	4. Chapter 4

Jun watches the tip of his cigarette bloom bright orange as the pleasant rush of nicotine floods his senses. He’s surrounded by white silvery smoke, wisps that blur his vision with each exhale. If he listens closely, he can almost hear the tiny hiss of the paper burning with each lungful he breathes in.  
  
He’s with a client right now, another ally that he suspects. He’s suspecting everyone. The man in front of him is named Kato, working for a long-time family friend, Inohara. Kato is accompanied by a bodyguard with thinning hair and a scar over his right eye. A rather intimidating appearance, which makes him suitable to be bodyguard.  
  
Kato is outlining revisions to the original contract with a patient tone, his face showing nothing but concentration despite being half-obscured by wisps of smoke.  
  
Jun only spares the document one glance.  
  
He taps the edge of his cigarette on the rim of the ashtray, ash descending in tiny uneven mounds on ivory surface. “Show me the revisions,” he orders Kato, who gets cut off from whatever he’s explaining in detail. Jun has heard enough.  
  
Kato does, turning a page and pointing to the specific request with a pen. Jun skims over the lines thrice, committing the request to memory. They’ll automatically get a copy of the contract, but Jun likes knowing where his guns will go since every delivery he makes is of unrivalled quality.  
  
Being an arms manufacturer and dealer makes him an important person in any upcoming business transactions. There are only three primary sources of money in their way of living: drugs, guns, and prostitution. Jun never liked selling compounds that he never sampled or indulged himself in. He also didn’t like prostitution; the idea of relying on too many people makes him more vulnerable.  
  
The guns, he can control. From the design to the manufacture to the pricing—it’s all up to him. If he wants to raise the charges for each to compensate for the wage of his workers, he can ask for it and no one will really complain, not when he’s delivering on time and keeps his promises.  
  
Jun believes he has what makes a good businessman. He’s not selling something he hasn’t tried.  
  
“Taking these specifics into account,” he tells Kato, “I believe it’s reasonable if I ask for a three percent price hike for each container.”  
  
Kato frowns, but only out of confusion and not displeasure. Jun thinks it’s a good sign. “May I inquire as to the reason?” Kato asks politely. Jun likes it when they ask for permission. He feels as if his position is not overlooked.  
  
He smiles, teeth still wrapped around the cigarette filter. “You may. Thank you for asking first.” He flicks the ash into the ashtray once more. “The additional charge goes to the workers and as payment for my usage of the port. Not that there’s been an amendment in my deal with Sakurai-san, but with these revisions in our original deal, I believe I will require more hours in Sakurai-san’s territory to unload and transport the cargo.”  
  
Inohara might be funding a war with this bulk order, but that’s none of Jun’s business. He supplies the weaponry, nothing more. They can kill each other with his guns and he won’t bat an eyelid if the news reaches him.  
  
Kato nods. “I will inform Inohara-san and get back to you as soon as possible.”  
  
That’s acceptable. Jun waves his hand to the direction of his door. “You may get back to Ninomiya. He knows of Inohara-kun’s specifications.”  
  
“Very well.” Kato stands and buttons his suit jacket once more. “Thank you for your time, Matsumoto-san. And on behalf of Inohara-san, it’s good to see you alive.”  
  
Jun smiles at that, letting out another puff of nicotine. “I appreciate the concern, thank you.”  
  
Kato departs his office without another word, taking the documents with him to pass to Nino, bodyguard trailing behind him. It’s Nino who handles the bulk of filing. Being Jun’s right-hand man gives him a difficult job—acting secretary, immediate bodyguard, trusted confidante.  
  
His intercom buzzes and he stubs his cigarette on the ashtray before pressing a button. “Yes?” he drawls, sneaking a glance at the digital clock. It’s almost early evening.  
  
Instead of Nino, however, he hears Aiba.  
  
“Nino tells me it’s time for you to go home,” Aiba says, and Jun wonders how he can still hear the man’s smile despite the recurring bouts of static that laced his jovial tone.  
  
Jun snorts. “Nino can stop acting like my mother.” Since the envelope, Nino’s been asking Aiba to take Jun home as soon as his last meeting for the day is concluded. “I still have a few calls to make.”  
  
“Ah, but you can make those while you’re in the car, yes?” Aiba asks, and Jun can’t bring himself to be angry with him. “Allow me to take you home, Mattsun. Nino’s going to pop an artery one of these days, and I really don’t want to be on the receiving end of his hysteria. You know what he’s like when he’s super worried.”  
  
Jun grins. Nino is a worrier like him, and Aiba is the filter that they both rely on when things become too toxic. Aiba’s optimism has helped Jun through plenty of trying times. “I’m still alive, Masaki. Make it to a point to remind Nino of that whenever you can, yeah?”  
  
Aiba laughs, good-natured and infectious. “Will do. So can I expect you at the lobby in ten minutes?”  
  
Jun makes a mental rundown of the people he has to call and grabs his phone and suit jacket. “Make it five. I’m famished. We’re having dinner.”  
  
He hears Aiba whoop. “Dinner with Mattsun, lucky!”  
  
That successfully gets Jun to laugh. “Get in the car already, Masaki.”  
  
“Yessir,” Aiba says, and Jun can imagine him giving a salute before he turns off the intercom.  
  
Jun shrugs his jacket back on and straightens his tie before heading out, finding Nino in the mailing room and frowning at some of the mails they received.  
  
“Anything for me?” he asks. He always asks. Whatever reaches the mailing room is deemed safe for him to touch, but Nino is more skeptical than he is; refusing to hand over the mail until he’s touched every part of it first.  
  
Nino shakes his head and shoos him away. “These are bills. Not for you to worry about. Go. Aiba-shi’s waiting in the car.”  
  
“I know.” Jun inclines his head in a gesture of farewell, but Nino already has his back turned from him. Jun heads for the elevator.  
  
He asks Aiba to take him to a seaside restaurant under his name, and he spends the car ride making calls and coordinating with people. The news of his assassination attempts are spreading, and it seems that the other leaders are taking precaution and arming themselves. Jun didn’t imagine that his death threats would also bring him more money and more work.  
  
He lets Aiba pick their seat, and he follows once he can safely tuck his phone and put all return calls on hold. He never enjoyed being disturbed when he’s dining, especially not when Aiba is his company. Unlike Nino who prefers cheap and affordable meals, Aiba doesn’t possess a sensitive stomach and can partake in anything that Jun picks.  
  
Tonight is just a platter of sashimi and beer, and before Jun can pick up his chopsticks, Aiba’s arm reaches across the table, hand wrapping around his wrist.  
  
Jun always forgets that as part of precaution, they’re supposed to eat ahead of him. He remembers when he’s with clients, business partners, and allies. But when he’s with Nino and Aiba, he forgets. A part of him doesn’t want to observe this new rule, but he knows Aiba and Nino will insist no matter what.  
  
Aiba says his graces and starts with the salmon, smiling at Jun and telling him it’s good after a few seconds.  
  
“This is my restaurant,” Jun says as a reminder. “You think I’d be poisoned here?”  
  
“You’ve been poisoned in the Toshima house.” Aiba shrugs. “That was your old home, and yet someone got in and almost succeeded in killing you. Nino is always saying we can’t be too sure, and the fewer people you trust, the better.”  
  
Jun picks up a piece of salmon and samples it. Freshly prepared and not doused in seasoning—just the way he prefers. “That house belonged to my father. This restaurant belongs to me. I personally staffed it. Do you think they’ll betray me?”  
  
“I didn’t say that,” Aiba says around a mouthful of eel. “But I’m with Nino when it comes to doubting everyone. I never thought I’d say this, but with your life on the line, Mattsun...everything changes.”  
  
Aiba, like Nino, doesn’t want him to die. Jun understands that. Aiba holds him in high regard and treats him more like a friend than a boss, and Jun likes it to remain that way. Aiba was training to be one of his bodyguards when a rogue bullet pierced his lung, but instead of sending him away, Jun appointed him as his chauffeur. Aiba still trained behind his back though, and Jun thinks the man can wield a gun in the same manner as his bodyguards can.  
  
Jun sips his beer before speaking. “Sometimes I feel like everyone out there wants me dead.”  
  
Aiba immediately shakes his head. “Not everyone.”  
  
Jun nods and smiles. “Not everyone,” he agrees. He cherishes these quiet moments of sharing a meal with the people who truly cares about him. He never experienced it with any of his family members.  
  
He allows himself to get lost in Aiba’s stories. When Aiba’s not driving him around, the man helps Nino out and runs errands for him. Aiba always complains that Nino is treating him like a slave, but they all know he’s just exaggerating with his claims. Jun can’t help smiling at Aiba’s grandiose gestures, his lively anecdotes about how his day went, successfully taking Jun’s mind off the grim stuff.  
  
It’s easy to forget that he’s got a target on his back when he’s in Aiba’s company. The difference between Aiba and Nino is that Nino’s realism always puts Jun back to the ground, always leaves him on his feet and on guard. While he appreciates that, Aiba’s attempts at making him feel better always work. For a while he can pretend he’s a simple businessman sharing a meal with a trusted friend.  
  
After their meal, they share a smoke. Aiba’s not much of a smoker (unlike Nino who always carries a pack and a lighter, never the one to bum a stick from someone), but he’s good company that he accompanies Jun even to the restaurant’s veranda overlooking the sea.  
  
“Nino’s primary suspect is Sakurai-san,” Aiba says. Jun has been wondering when they’ll start talking about their present predicament.  
  
“He did send a poisoned card,” Jun says, exhaling a cloud of smoke that dissipates in the air.  
  
“But you’re still going to meet him?” Aiba asks, worry unmistakable in his tone.  
  
Jun has to. Inohara made sure that he has to negotiate for more than the agreed time of two hours free use on the port. Jun is not looking forward to the meeting. Nino’s been advising him to play dumb to collect more intel, but Jun doesn’t have much confidence in his acting skills.  
  
“I have to, Masaki,” he says, flashing Aiba a tiny smile. “But since that’s not happening until next week, I would prefer not to think about it.”  
  
He’s going to willingly walk into a trap. He knows, Nino knows, and Aiba knows. Unlike Nino who has resigned himself to this truth, Aiba doesn’t seem to want Jun to go alone.  
  
“If he’s really the one after you, Jun-chan,” Aiba begins, and there it is, the nickname Aiba uses whenever he’s seriously worried for Jun’s safety, “you’re no longer acting bait. You’re being an idiot.”  
  
A tiny laugh escapes from Jun’s mouth. Nino always calls Aiba an idiot, and to hear the same word from Aiba’s lips amuses him momentarily. “Who else will make the negotiations on my behalf? He doesn’t trust Nino. And I’m not sending you in to talk to him, not after that lethal envelope.”  
  
“Well I’m not going to sit here and let you die, if that’s what you’re planning on doing next week,” Aiba says, voice hard now. What Jun feels, Aiba feels more. He’s more showy and expressive than Jun will ever be, never bothering to mask his emotions.  
  
Jun stubs his cigarette under the sole of his shoe despite the stick being halfway from finished. “I don’t think he’ll kill me.” He doesn’t know where his confidence is coming from, but something’s telling him he might be right about this. “If he’s careful enough to not actually dirty his hands, he’s not going to start now. He said it himself: residues are damning. He’s not going to harm me when everyone knows I’m meeting him.”  
  
He turns to face Aiba with a smile. “Nino’s already working on it, informing our closest allies that next week, I have a meeting with Sakurai Sho. If I don’t make it out alive, they’re all going to come after him.”  
  
Jun can’t rely on promises, but when his allies are sworn to his name on paper, he’s confident that if he goes down, he’s at least going to take half of what Sakurai Sho is known for. If he dies, he’s going to pave the way to bring the man down eventually. He’ll happily welcome death if he’s accompanied with that knowledge.  
  
“I still don’t like this plan,” Aiba says quietly, pursing his lips.  
  
“None of us do,” Jun acknowledges. “But it’s all we’ve got. Until we get conclusive proof that it’s him who’s trying to kill me, there’s not much we can do.”  
  
Aiba still has that anxious expression, and Jun wishes he’s not the one who put it there. He’s so accustomed to Aiba’s smiles that seeing them gone feels as if something is lacking.  
  
He waits until Aiba finishes his stick before he inclines his head towards the exit. “Care to drive me home, Aiba-san?” he asks playfully, trying to lighten the mood between them.  
  
Aiba salutes and stands straight, and Jun laughs, his delight getting lost in the sounds of waves crashing against the rocks. He somehow feels the tension in him dissipate a little.  
  
He had a nice evening. He hopes that’ll continue for the rest of the night.  
  
\--  
  
Jun immerses himself in his duties and responsibilities. He works, oversees preparations, drafts requests, and takes notes of revisions he needs to confirm. He drowns himself in his job, spearheading his deals and negotiating prices with firmness. He’s always had the ability to convince (something Sakurai himself has acknowledged), but he doesn’t permit himself to grow too complacent, instead seeks to hone this skill for future use.  
  
If he can make renowned men and women bend and accept his conditions, he’ll acquire the power and respect he craves the most in no time.  
  
But he can only do it by starting small. He can’t build a tower starting from the top.  
  
The night before his meeting with Sakurai Sho to renegotiate his use of the port, sleep remained elusive. Popping a sleeping pill before heading to bed gave him almost two hours of nightmares. Deciding he’s had enough, he sits up, cradling his skull in the heel of his palms, breaths frantic and body burning.  
  
It’s so hot. He keeps sweating despite ditching his shirt and leaving only his boxers on, the sheets beginning to get soaked. Jun sometimes wishes he has someone who shares his bed to make the idea of laundry at least welcoming. If he has a bedmate, he can at least recall the events that led to the stained sheets.  
  
But his bedcovers are almost always soaked in perspiration thanks to his recurring nightmares. Tonight was him being back in the training grounds, running from yet another one who wants to hurt him. He woke up when the ground he was standing on fell away and he plunged into darkness.  
  
The dream turned worse for tonight, because his attacker in it had Sakurai’s face.  
  
Jun measures his breaths in an attempt to keep his heart rate from going too high. He can feel it thumping madly in his ribcage, can almost hear it if only he’d breathe more quietly. But he can’t afford the silence out of fear that he’s still trapped in a dream (it’s harder to distinguish lately), so he sticks with the sounds of his exhales and wills himself to believe that no one’s in his apartment except for him.  
  
Shit, he thinks angrily, feeling the pinpricks in his head that will lead to a migraine. Get a grip. You’re better than this.  
  
He balls his hands into fists and digs his knuckles to his temples—a desperate attempt to silence everything he hears in his head. He doesn’t like listening to himself, never has. It’s either too crowded and too noisy or too quiet and too terrifying. Jun only finds rest when he has exhausted himself enough that his own body agrees to succumb.  
  
He relishes the small flare of pain he senses when he drills his temples using the joints of his fingers. Pain, he can focus on. Pain drags him away from all the chaos his head created without his permission or knowledge. Pain reminds him he’s here, he’s breathing, he’s alive. Pain tells him they haven’t gotten to him yet.  
  
Pain, more than anything, grounds Jun.  
  
The migraine, thankfully, doesn’t take root, and soon, he feels his heart rate slowly reverting to normal. He’s still sweating—cold trickles running from the sides of his face and making him shiver—, but at least now he knows he’s no longer dreaming.  
  
That is perhaps the only relief he will receive tonight.  
  
Jun gets off the bed in wobbly legs, but the coolness of the flooring feels soothing in a way he can’t define. He somehow manages to reach the bathroom despite his unsteady gait, and he nearly recoils when he sees himself on the mirror.  
  
He looks far worse than he imagined.  
  
His hands automatically fly to his cheeks, fingers pressing on the bones a little too hard than usual. Since when did he begin losing weight? His cheekbones are more prominent, his jaw more pronounced. His eyes are nearly bloodshot, surrounded by dark circles that he will never be able to hide.  
  
If he goes to tomorrow’s meeting in such a state, Sakurai Sho’s laugh is a thing he can expect.  
  
It seems to Jun that if Sakurai is truly the one trying to kill him, despite his inefficiency and failures, he’s succeeding in making Jun destroy himself. The lack of sleep, the never-ending workload—he’s overtaxing himself and showing signs of it. Jun is, by nature, a demanding person, but he’s the most demanding when it comes to himself.  
  
Which is why though someone is keen to end him, he doesn’t allow himself to cower. He must perform in top shape, with confidence and conviction. His desires to project a stable and strong image lead to him looking worse than he’s ever been, and he knows if his life continues in this fashion for a while, he’s going to die without the aid of a lethal poison or a properly timed bullet.  
  
Paranoia is eating him away. He’s withering—he can see it staring back at him; signs of atrophy are evident everywhere he looks.  
  
Without him realizing it, the assassination attempts have consumed him.  
  
Soft chuckles escape through his dry lips, and soon his hilarity escalates to full-blown mania.  
  
Nothing’s funny, he tells himself. Nothing’s funny and yet here I am, laughing because it took me this long to understand that if they wanted me to die, they should have just asked. I can do it myself.  
  
He’s so independent and stubborn that he can orchestrate even his own demise. It amazes Jun that despite everything that’s happening, he still has control over himself, his own functions and mental faculties. He can’t control the dreams, but he knows exactly how to deal with the aftermath.  
  
Jun stares at his own reflection still caught in laughter, wanting to absorb every bit of this moment so he can draw on it if there comes another time he feels out of balance.  
  
His smiling face—looking almost ghoulish thanks to his pale appearance and the minimal lighting over his head—is what makes him decide.  
  
I won’t let them kill me, he swears, looking himself in the eye. I won’t give them the satisfaction of killing me.  
  
Not when the only one I owe that to is myself.  
  
\--  
  
To test Nino’s theory about Sakurai being the one targeting Jun from the beginning, they decided to lay the biggest bait of all by making Jun visit Sakurai in the man’s home, just like their first meeting.  
  
Jun is once again led to the same room, but instead of being greeted by the sight of Sakurai Sho doing ikebana and hidden by foliage and flowers, he finds the man seated in the center of the room while he plays the koto.  
  
It’s not something Jun expected.  
  
Sakurai doesn’t look up, fingers gracefully strumming. The melody he’s playing is unfamiliar but has the theme of old. If someone sings to accompany his playing, Jun thinks it might be about a forgotten folklore or an epic tragedy.  
  
Jun assumes the seiza and watches Sakurai play, who doesn’t pause to greet him. He keeps plucking strings and producing music which echoes around the room given the silence of the entire house. Jun can’t hear the servants roaming about. It’s all Sakurai’s fingers and the music he creates with them, the finger picks he’s wearing catching light every now and then.  
  
“Do you play any instruments, Matsumoto-kun?” Sakurai asks, still not looking at him.  
  
Jun didn’t expect to be acknowledged immediately, which is an improvement over the last time. “I’m a little tone-deaf.”  
  
Sakurai hums. “Never had that impression.”  
  
Jun says nothing and takes a good look at his host. Sakurai is dressed in a white patterned yukata, tiny gray diamonds forming an intricate but even design. It’s far simpler than anything Jun has seen him wear, but it somehow makes the tan of his skin more noticeable. He’s wearing a silver obi to match the pattern adorning the white fabric, and Jun envies him for being able to pull off such a look.  
  
Jun’s pale complexion hinders him from wearing garments in lighter hues. It’s why he sticks to his suits. Suits are more like a uniform. They already command an air of respect and accountability at first glance.  
  
“What’s the song?” Jun asks, just to fill in the silence. He’s been observing Sakurai for a while, and the man seems to enjoy the attention.  
  
Sakurai smiles, thumb plucking a string pointedly to produce a high note. “I don’t remember.” At Jun’s answering frown, he elaborates. “I learned it many years ago, perhaps more than a decade ago. I don’t remember it exactly. I’m playing from memory and filling gaps as I go.”  
  
Jun can’t really tell, but he knows that what he’s heard so far would qualify as actual music. “You’re quite good.” He means it.  
  
Sakurai grins. “From a tone-deaf person, that doesn’t seem like a reliable feedback.”  
  
“It’s all you’re getting.” Jun makes a show of looking around. “I’m your only audience.”  
  
Sakurai plays a few more notes before straightening and removing the plectra from his fingers. To Jun’s surprise, Sakurai offers them to him, palm open between them.  
  
“I’m not here to take lessons from you,” Jun says, uncertain of Sakurai’s motive.  
  
He earns another one of Sakurai’s rich chuckles. “We can discuss your business with me while you play.” He doesn’t withdraw his outstretched hand. “Please?”  
  
It’s the first time he hears the word fall from Sakurai’s mouth. “I don’t know how,” Jun says, eyes narrowing at the ivory picks sitting on Sakurai’s palm.  
  
“I’ll show you how,” Sakurai promises.  
  
Jun raises his eyebrow as a final attempt of changing Sakurai’s mind, but it doesn’t work. He takes a deep breath before taking the plectra from Sakurai, careful not to feel more of the man’s skin against his own. He puts them on just as Sakurai maneuvers the koto to face him.  
  
Jun looks at Sakurai pointedly, his fingers hovering awkwardly over the strings of the instrument.  
  
“Do you have another delivery?” Sakurai asks. This, Jun can focus on. Business is what he came for. So far, there seems to be no deliberate attempts on his life. If Sakurai wanted to murder him, maybe he’s going to smash the koto over Jun’s head because there can be no weapon hidden underneath that yukata. Jun wasn’t offered tea, so poison is also out of the question.  
  
“Yes,” Jun says, ending in a sharp inhale when he feels Sakurai’s fingers reaching out to guide his hand in the proper position. He covers for his shock by giving a few details about the cargo this time.  
  
Sakurai appears to consider, though his gaze his fixed on Jun’s fingers over the strings. Jun hears him click his tongue before he sees Sakurai rising from his seiza. Instinctively, Jun draws back and braces himself for an attack.  
  
His breath stills when Sakurai sinks to the spot beside him. His scent overwhelms Jun’s nostrils for a moment, olfactory receptors reacting at the sudden wave of musk mixed with freshness. An unlikely combination, and Jun’s certain it’s something he won’t forget.  
  
“Like this,” Sakurai says, placing his hand over Jun’s and directing his forefinger to the first pluck, producing a low note. Jun stiffens at the feel of Sakurai’s breath ghosting his ear, and he has to breathe slowly through his nose to get his bearings back.  
  
“How much for the additional two hours of port use?” Jun asks, keeping his voice calm through sheer will. Each slide of Sakurai’s palm over his knuckles radiates warmth, and Jun permits this loss of control until he’s able to produce a couple of notes with Sakurai’s help.  
  
“I’m still thinking about it,” Sakurai says. Jun doesn’t believe it. “Go do it again.”  
  
Jun does, plucking strings without guidance this time. Sakurai’s fingers slide over his to direct him to the next set of notes, and this time, Jun is ready when he feels the fleeting brush of Sakurai’s arm as it goes around his side to strum the strings on his other side for accompaniment.  
  
He’s presently caged in his primary suspect’s arms, and his body stiffens at the idea of it.  
  
“Relax your fingers,” Sakurai says, voice too close. “If you go stiff, the notes won’t sound right. We want them released, not restrained. Suppression never results to anything beautiful.”  
  
Jun moistens his lips before turning his head, finding his face so close to Sakurai’s that he can perhaps count the man’s pores. “Have you decided how much you’re going to charge me?”  
  
“Four hours of port use is going to raise questions,” Sakurai tells him, eyes intent on the movement of Jun’s fingers over the koto. Jun plays for his satisfaction, following instructions without memorizing any of it. “The last time I allowed someone that much time in my territory, I had to deal with a lot of clean-up. Who knew they were going to use the port as a battle ground?”  
  
Jun knows this story. Twins striving for approval were given a task by their parent. It ended in a bloodbath; jealousy is one of the strongest motivators and can often set blood relation aside. It’s why Sakurai decreed that no one should draw any weapons while using the port.  
  
“I’m absent during the delivery,” Jun says, plucking strings with force. “I don’t think anyone would bother to shoot my men when I’m not amongst them.”  
  
He hears the smile breaking on Sakurai’s face and wills himself not to look. “I heard about the recent attempt on your life.”  
  
Jun straightens his back at that. Sakurai knows about the envelope. Jun hoped he had no idea, but given his resources, it’s natural that he knows. If Sakurai suddenly brandishes a blade and stabs him, he thinks he’s in a position that can thwart it despite his supposed vulnerability. Every lackey his father sent his way back when he was still training to protect himself all had one mistake: they underestimated him.  
  
If Sakurai makes the same mistake, he’s not so different from all the men Jun has taken down.  
  
“And what did you hear?” Jun asks, fingers producing something close to an acceptable harmony with Sakurai’s help. Sakurai is strumming the strings on the side when necessary, adding to the growing melody they’re creating together.  
  
“That someone made a poor imitation of me and my methods,” Sakurai says. He’s speaking close to Jun’s neck, making the hair there stand. “Ricin, really? Quite lethal when inhaled, yes, but can be treated once detected early. Where’s the fun in using something that has an immediate remedy?”  
  
Jun doesn’t trust him one bit. “You seem knowledgeable about it.” He thumbs at one string with force, nearly detaching the plectrum he’s wearing.  
  
From his periphery, he catches Sakurai turning his head to face him. His fingers are motionless now, one hand on the strings and the other on top of Jun’s. Jun faces him, eyes narrowing in distrust.  
  
“I know all there is to know about that compound,” Sakurai whispers, since they’re so close.  
  
Jun keeps his gaze locked on Sakurai’s eyes, not wanting to back down. “Why? Because you looked it up before you attempted to use it on me?” he accuses.  
  
Sakurai seems offended, nose scrunching. Given their proximity, it’s easier for Jun to decipher his expressions. He just received a look of disapproval. “Goodness, Matsumoto-kun. No.” He snorts, breath fanning Jun’s cheek.  
  
“Then how do you know about it?” Jun frowns at him, prepared to strike if Sakurai tries anything funny. He might be in the man’s arms at the moment, but he’s not as vulnerable as he makes Sakurai believe.  
  
Sakurai smiles, and it’s not mocking, just a slight curling of his mouth to the side.  
  
“Because someone used it on me before.”  
  
Jun’s eyes widen in surprise, and Sakurai doesn’t lose his smile.  
  
It takes Jun a few moments to collect himself. “Do you think the same person is after me?”  
  
He gets a hum, followed by fingers sliding to guide his once more. “I can’t say. I had a lot of enemies before I got to where I am. I still have them at present. Up to now, I have no idea who it was that successfully managed to poison me but was stupid enough to not use a sufficient amount to kill me. Palliative treatment ensured my survival that time. I made a doctor significantly richer in a matter of hours.”  
  
“If they’re after you, why are they trying to get to me?” Jun asks. It’s the one question forming on his mind since Sakurai’s admission of his near death experience.  
  
“Why, Matsumoto-kun, I thought you knew already,” Sakurai says, every syllable laced with amusement. He directs his smile to Jun once more, and Jun feels boxed, but it’s surprisingly not claustrophobic. He’s so close to Sakurai he can catch a whiff of sake from the man’s breath.  
  
Jun considers where he is, koto playing forgotten. “Is it true?” he asks instead, just to confirm.  
  
“Yes,” Sakurai replies without hesitation, and Jun supposes that is the answer to all of his questions. Someone’s trying to kill him because he holds Sakurai Sho’s interest. Sakurai Sho is interested in him.  
  
Jun wets his lips, knowing it’s perfectly within Sakurai’s view. “How much for the additional two hours of port use, then?”  
  
Hearing Sakurai’s laugh so close almost makes him crack a smile. “So serious and businesslike! Very well. We once agreed on an amount back when you first visited me. Double that would be fair, no?”  
  
It’s more than fair. Jun expected a price hike, a triple at least.  
  
He finally smiles, showing teeth. He doesn’t miss Sakurai’s eyes narrowing. “I appreciate your generosity, Sakurai-san.”  
  
“Double if you drop the formality,” Sakurai amends, eyes playful now. “I can’t stand you addressing me like a senpai or a client every time.”  
  
“And if I don’t?” Jun asks, dares, just to see the shift of Sakurai’s expression.  
  
An amused smile crosses Sakurai’s round face. “Forget using the port.”  
  
Jun had a feeling he’d say that. He simply wanted to hear it for himself. “Double the original amount for two more hours,” he repeats, nodding to himself. “I think we can settle that, Sho-san.”  
  
Sakurai inclines his head, his grin never leaving his face. “That’s better.” He withdraws from Jun, rising in one smooth move, the fabric of his yukata gliding around his ankles as he returns to his original position.  
  
He reverses the koto’s position and offers his palm to Jun. “The picks, if you please?”  
  
Jun removes the plectra from his fingers and hands them over, making sure to brush his fingers over Sakurai’s opened palm this time. He watches as Sakurai puts them back on, wondering if he should see himself out.  
  
Feeling braver, Jun waits until he catches Sakurai’s questioning stare. “Would you mind playing something before I leave?”  
  
He doesn’t receive a direct answer, but he spends the succeeding minutes listening to Sakurai Sho pluck strings and observing as the man weaves songs and symphonies that Jun can only archive in his memory.  
  
If, later, he dreams of strings made of silk and agile fingers navigating them, he thinks it’ll be his most peaceful sleep in a long time.  
  
\--  
  
The sight of Nino’s scowl doesn’t stop Jun from repeating what he just said.  
  
“It’s not him, Nino,” he says, shaking his head. “Each time I went to his home, they searched me for weapons. I had nothing and he could’ve killed me or at least tried, but he did nothing.”  
  
Nino scoffs. “You think he’s not your killer because he taught you how to play the koto?”  
  
“I think I would know if my assassin is breathing at the back of my neck,” Jun snaps, patience depleting. Nino’s nature to question things is often a source of reason, but not when they’re having an argument.  
  
Nino’s gaze is hard, almost angry. “Jun-kun, do you hear yourself? You’re actually claiming that Sakurai Sho isn’t the one behind your failed murder attempts because he told you about that time he fell victim to the same poison?” Nino releases an incredulous chuckle. “What did he do to you? How did you become this naïve after spending only a couple of hours in his company?”  
  
Jun doesn’t have anything to support his claim save for his gut feeling. It’s the one thing Nino doesn’t believe in. “Years ago, I heard about the almost-successful assassination attempt. They never disclosed the specifics, but I heard about it. From my own father.”  
  
Nino rolls his eyes, and Jun exhales slowly through his nose to stave off the temper. “Your own father was the one who gave up your primary source of power in order to convince Sakurai Sho of his loyalty. Besides, there were lots of nearly successful attempts on Sakurai’s life. So many that even I lost track of them. And now you’re taking him out of the suspects list because he disclosed to you the details of one near death experience?”  
  
Nino slams his palms down Jun’s desk, sending some of the documents on top of it askew. “I’ll ask again: do you hear yourself?”  
  
“And I maintain my answer,” Jun insists, jaw clenching. “I don’t think it’s him. He could’ve killed me; I was unarmed and he had the upper hand. But he didn’t.”  
  
Nino’s scowl deepens. “He also doesn’t like getting his hands dirty. Or have you forgotten? He likes having other people do the dirty work for him. He’s not a participant; he’s a tactician. Just because he didn’t harm you when could’ve doesn’t mean he’s giving up on his plan.”  
  
“Assuming it’s his plan in the first place,” Jun quips, and he meets Nino’s heated stare. “How about you put some men to work and find out the truth regarding his similar experience? To placate both of us.”  
  
Nino waves his hand. “Already did that. But since it’s Sakurai we’re up against, the digging is taking longer than usual. He knows how to conceal his weaknesses, plugging holes even before anyone notices they’re there.” A head tilt. “I admire that about him. Because he’s not bragging about his battle scars unlike someone else.”  
  
Jun knows when a jab is aimed at him and he resists the urge to bite. He takes a deep breath, willing his anger to subside. “Are you finished?” he asks, schooling his features to not betray anything.  
  
Nino sighs, and for the first time since Jun’s nameday, he sounds exhausted. He’s better at hiding his fatigue. “You’re young, Jun-kun. Everything else comes with that.”  
  
Without another word, Nino moves to leave, turning his back to Jun without waiting for what Jun has to say.  
  
When the door finally shuts, Jun mulls over the words in his head. When he’s done doing that, he rises from his seat and fixes himself a drink, not caring if the sun is still up.  
  
He focuses on the burn and savors it, imagines it devouring him, partly convinced that’s going to happen in the near future.  
  
\--  
  
Jun doesn’t see Nino for the rest of the day. The thing about having a row with Nino is that despite their differences and tendencies to lose their cool with one another, in the end, they agree to disagree. Nino would avoid Jun to give himself space, and Jun would do the same. By the following morning, Jun’s certain they’ll reach some level of understanding despite their contrasting opinions.  
  
When it’s time for him to either head home or grab dinner, he asks Aiba to bring him to a restaurant he doesn’t know a thing about, wishing to be far away from anything he possesses at the time. If he’s surrounded by what he owns, the more he feels his control slipping.  
  
Aiba takes Jun to his family’s restaurant in Chiba, a place Jun has only heard about till now.  
  
He exchanges pleasantries with Aiba’s parents, finding that the warm smile Aiba always has came from his mother. She’s as cheerful and as accommodating as her son is, clearing a private room for them so Jun can have a moment’s peace.  
  
“Here, I’m sure no one will poison you,” Aiba says, looking proud. It’s not a high-class restaurant, nothing like the chain Jun has under his name. It’s strange that Jun knows he’s safer here than in any of those he built with his own money.  
  
“I have no doubt,” Jun says, returning Aiba’s smile. He allows Aiba to order for them, figuring his chauffeur knows better. Aiba also asks for sake, and to Jun’s surprise, they receive a bottle from Aiba’s father’s personal stock.  
  
Aiba laughs, waving away Jun’s initial refusal of the gift. “He’s happy I finally brought you here. He always wanted to meet the person I work for. My family has met Nino, so they’re kind of relieved that it’s not him I’m bringing along this time. That guy practically lived here at one point.”  
  
They clink their cups in a toast, and Aiba flashes him another one of his warm smiles. “I’m glad you’re okay, Mattsun.”  
  
He’s talking about the meeting from a few days ago. “I’m glad I didn’t die too, Masaki,” Jun agrees.  
  
“We can drink to that, yeah?” Aiba offers, already raising his cup, and Jun mimics it before taking another sip. It’s high quality; as expected from a personal collection. It’s far from the scotch and brandies Jun indulges in when he’s feeling conflicted and confused. He doesn’t mind associating sake with a pleasant night in Aiba Masaki’s company.  
  
Aiba skillfully navigates their conversation far from work, keeping Jun’s attention occupied elsewhere. He talks about the childhood he had before he decided to work for Jun’s family, his dreams of becoming a pro-wrestler and later, a baseball player. Jun appreciates these lighthearted stories; it reminds him that he has people he can truly rely on.  
  
Even if he gets into disputes with them, they remain loyal to him. Sometimes Jun forgets. The idea of people actually caring about him is so foreign that he doesn’t know where to look for it. But then Aiba comes and reminds him, shows him.  
  
Jun is grateful for his presence in his life. He files these quiet moments with Aiba as part of those he won’t allow anyone to taint. He permits himself to relax and unwind, enjoying food and stories, laughing out of genuine amusement.  
  
The night goes on, and when Aiba finally remembers how late it is, the restaurant is closed.  
  
Aiba rubs his nape in embarrassment. “You should have reminded me of the hour.”  
  
Jun allows himself a small smile. “I didn’t notice it either. My apologies for making your family operate past business hours.”  
  
Aiba waves his hands and clicks his tongue at him. “So formal, Mattsun! You’re always welcome here. My parents would say the same.”  
  
It proves true when on their way out, Aiba’s mother asks for Jun’s continuing favor towards her son and that next time, she would love to see the two of them with Nino for a meal and a drink.  
  
It’s Aiba who promises on his behalf, saving Jun from the explanations. Aiba always knows when to step in—a trait he shares with Nino. Their only difference is that Nino’s cynicism manifests as optimism in Aiba.  
  
They approach the car in light steps, a little inebriated thanks to all the sake they had. Aiba’s father kept refilling their flask, and Jun thinks he’ll find sleep easily tonight.  
  
He’s about five paces away from the car when he feels Aiba’s insistent tug on his elbow, and he feels the wind get knocked out of him when Aiba pulls him back to shield him just as the car explodes, fires dancing in front of his eyes. Pieces of glass and metal fly in all directions, and Jun finds himself on the ground, Aiba using his body to protect him.  
  
The car catches fire, the blast enough to rouse the sleeping neighborhood. Jun quickly grapples for Aiba’s arms, shaking the man off him, and he panics when he hears Aiba groan.  
  
“Masaki!” he hollers, shaking Aiba off him. Did he get hit? Jun couldn’t see—it all happened so fast. One moment he was enjoying a calm night, the next he’s watching clouds of heavy, black smoke rise to cover the starlit sky.  
  
Jun reaches behind Aiba’s back, and he curses when he feels something sticky and warm on Aiba’s clothes. Reaching around some more, he finds a shard of metal protruding from Aiba’s side, and he carefully rolls Aiba off him as he screams for help.  
  
The workers from Aiba’s family restaurant are already surrounding them, having heard the explosion earlier. Jun sees the frightened look on the face of Aiba’s mother, and he brings a hand on the side of Aiba’s face.  
  
“Masaki, talk to me,” he begs. He doesn’t dare touch the object impaling Aiba, and soon, he’s joined by Aiba’s parents in attempting to rouse him.  
  
“Did you call for help?” Jun asks, breathing hard. He’s got both hands pressed on Aiba’s wound, trying his best to prevent the bleeding by applying pressure. He feels warm, delicate hands cover his own, and he looks up to see the face that looks too much like Aiba’s, only feminine.  
  
“Do you have a car? We have to get him out of here. He needs help, he—” Jun rambles, but he stops when Aiba’s mother shakes her head.  
  
“We’ll take care of this. Get out of here.” She pushes him away, and Jun falls on his ass and heels, heart still hammering. Fear has gripped him—he can feel it in his marrow, with every rushed thrum of his pulse. “They’re after you. He’ll live, you know he will. He’s stronger than he looks,” she says, nodding to the people around them. “We’ll get him to the hospital. Now go. Go where you think it’s safe. Please.”  
  
Jun doesn’t move, and Aiba’s mother gives him a hard look through bleary eyes. “Go! It’s what he’ll ask of you.”  
  
Jun shoots one last glance at Aiba’s prone but still breathing form and gets on his hands and knees. He bows, forehead touching the concrete. “I’m so sorry.”  
  
He gets on his feet and steps aside, allowing the restaurant staff to haul Aiba away, to a waiting car that will take him to the nearest hospital. Jun wipes the tears from his face, reaching in his pockets for his phone.  
  
He doesn’t even know he’s calling Nino until he hears the man’s voice. Whatever Nino says doesn’t register, because all Jun can say is “They planted a bomb on the car.”  
  
“Where are you?” is the next thing he hears, followed by movement.  
  
“Outside Aiba’s family restaurant. Nino, they got him. Masaki, he—he shielded me from the blast. He’s wounded, I—”  
  
“Get out of there,” Nino orders, every word said with force. “Are you mad? Why are you standing outside? Get inside, somewhere safe, take cover!”  
  
Jun doesn’t hear a thing. “Nino, they got him,” he says, Aiba’s blood still fresh and sticky on his fingers. He can smell iron and smoke, can hear crackling embers and commotion behind him. He’s surrounded by people now, curious onlookers and bystanders.  
  
“Listen to me,” Nino says, and somehow, Jun finds the will to focus on Nino’s voice. He can trust Nino. He can trust Nino just as he can trust Aiba. “Listen to me, Jun-kun. Go inside the restaurant. Stay there. Don’t leave until you see me outside. I’m coming to get you. Don’t you dare go someplace else.”  
  
Someplace else? Jun blinks, then he realizes where he is. He heeds Nino’s advice and heads inside the restaurant, the remaining staff asking him what he needs. He settles for a glass of water, collapsing on the nearest seat.  
  
“Nino?” he asks, and when he hears another shuffle of movement, he continues. “Don’t come here.”  
  
“What? Have you gone completely out of your mind?!”  
  
Jun shakes his head, as if Nino can see it. “No. I don’t want them to get to you. They already got Aiba. I want you to go to the hospital, find him. Tell me how he is. I can’t follow him there; what if they’re watching me?”  
  
“Whatever you’re thinking of doing, Jun, don’t,” Nino screeches, and Jun hears the engines of a car starting. Nino’s on his way. “Don’t. Listen to me, okay? Aiba’s going to make it. If you’re scared for him, I’m scared too, but he’s going to make it. Now you stay where you are and wait for me.”  
  
“No!” Jun yells, a sob hitching from his throat. This is all his fault. “Go see how he’s doing! Don’t you dare come here, Nino. If they get you next, I don’t know what I’ll do.”  
  
He makes up his mind. “Do you trust me?” he asks Nino, who only pauses for a moment.  
  
“Don’t do it, Jun. Don’t,” Nino pleads, but there’s no more time. His time is running out; they’re getting closer and closer.  
  
“Go find Masaki,” is all he says, and despite Nino’s protests, he cuts the line. He meets the curious, sympathetic eyes of the rest of the restaurant staff. “Do you have any vehicle I can use?”  
  
Nino’s calling him, but he swipes his finger to reject it.  
  
Jun knows exactly where to go.  
  
\--  
  
It’s Ohno who greets him when he arrives in the Sakurai household aboard a delivery van. Ohno eyes him only for a moment.  
  
“Is he here?” Jun asks, not masking the malice in his tone. He’s not here to talk, and Ohno seems to know.  
  
Ohno gives him one look from head to foot before he steps back. “If you’ll follow me, Matsumoto-san.”  
  
The corridors they pass through look different in the night. Jun has only been here when the sun was up, when he could see the garden outside. There are no servants running about; it’s quite late and they all must be sleeping.  
  
Jun wonders in what state will he find Sakurai in.  
  
Ohno leads him to a different room, but unlike an attendant who assumes the seiza before opening the door for him, Ohno keeps his hand locked on the handle, not pushing it aside.  
  
Jun meets the man’s eyes.  
  
“Are you here to kill him?” Ohno asks. He doesn’t sound angry nor concerned, merely intrigued.  
  
“That’s up to him,” Jun replies, as honest as he can be.  
  
Ohno pushes the door open without another word, his other hand gesturing for Jun to head inside.  
  
As soon as Jun crosses the threshold, the door slides shut behind him. It’s dark, and he takes a few moments to allow his eyes to adjust.  
  
He finds Sakurai Sho beginning to shrug off his yukata, undoubtedly preparing for bed. His obi is already undone and is neatly folded by his side. Sakurai turns, eyebrows lifting in surprise at the sight of him.  
  
Jun crosses the room in steady strides, and he pulls out the revolver he’s always been keeping on his person. Ohno didn’t search him on the way inside, and he relishes the sound of the firearm cocking as he points it toward Sakurai Sho.  
  
Sakurai’s yukata is perhaps deep blue in shade—Jun can’t tell since there are no lights on. But he can see that it’s open, revealing planes of skin underneath.  
  
“Will you at least tell me why you’re pointing that thing at me?” Sakurai asks. He doesn’t sound intimidated or affected. He takes a step towards Jun, and Jun holds his ground.  
  
“You almost got him killed,” Jun accuses, unable to forget the sight of Aiba groaning in pain, the feel of Aiba’s blood smearing his fingers.  
  
Sakurai frowns. “What are you talking about?”  
  
Jun shakes his head and keeps his arm outstretched, his gun shining between them. “Don’t play dumb. Don’t. I’m tired. If you want to kill me, do it yourself.”  
  
Sakurai’s eyes narrow, barely perceptible in the darkness blanketing them. “Was there another attempt tonight?”  
  
“Fuck you!” Jun screams, exhaustion surfacing. He’s so weary and it’s dragging him down. He wants it all to be over. He can accept death; if only Sakurai would man up and actually go for the kill himself. He doesn’t want these theatrics. “If you want to kill me, fucking do it. Stop involving the people dear to me.”  
  
He takes a step, the muzzle of his gun pressed right against Sakurai’s chest. “Just get it over with.”  
  
For a while, all they do is stare at each other. Jun is fuming, adrenaline leaving his veins alight, his blood running hot. He has too much energy unspent. His finger itches for the trigger, but the impassiveness and disinterest in Sakurai’s eyes is stopping him from pulling it.  
  
“You really think I’m the one trying to kill you?” Sakurai asks, a rumble that somehow echoes in the stillness of the room.  
  
Jun doesn’t know. He honestly doesn’t. He’s being rash, but he needs answers. It won’t stop with Aiba. It will only end when Jun’s the one dead or dying. “I don’t know what to believe anymore,” he admits, close to breaking down.  
  
Sakurai grips the muzzle, moving it to the skin over his heart. “If you truly think it’s me, do it. Take it. Pull the trigger.” He lets go, hand falling to his side. He remains motionless, eyes fixed on Jun’s.  
  
“It’s yours,” Sakurai offers.  
  
Jun takes one good look at him, his angry haze beginning to clear. He can see no fear, no doubt, no hesitation. He can see everything he doesn’t have. His hands are still bloodstained, and yet the desire to have them drenched in blood again is becoming unwelcoming.  
  
“If I wanted to kill you,” Sakurai says, taking a step forward and causing Jun’s arm to bend at the elbow, “you’d know.” The muzzle is still pressed against his chest. “I said that and never gave you cause to doubt any of my intentions.”  
  
Jun is lost. He has no idea what to make of things; his judgment is skewed, his reasoning is gone. He needs Nino, but he sent Nino away. His trepidation escalated to paranoia, and he realizes that he absolutely has no idea of what he’s doing.  
  
Is he currently looking at his killer’s face? Is he pointing the gun at the right person? Why won’t his fingers move? Why can’t he pull the trigger and end it, if what he’s currently made to believe seemed so true that he threw reason aside to rush here?  
  
Sakurai grasps the muzzle again, this time putting it right against his forehead. “Make it quick,” he tells Jun. “I never liked prolonging suffering. If you’re going to take it, make it quick.”  
  
Their eyes meet—Sakurai’s determination against Jun’s indecision. “If you want it, take it,” Sakurai says, face breaking to a resigned smile. “It’s always been yours.”  
  
It all comes back, unbidden and in flashes: the news of his father’s death, the necklace adorning his neck that signifies his status and importance, the white lily he kept floating in a bowl, the poison dart, the Fuji sakura that’s steadily blooming on his desk, the poisoned food, blood and lots of it, gunshots, the envelope that never reached his hands, plectra attached to skilled fingers over a stringed instrument, Aiba’s blood all over his hands.  
  
His fingers twitch, but it’s enough—Sakurai catches it.  
  
Sakurai grips the gun tight, and Jun’s reluctance to fire causes him to give, the weapon slipping from his grasp. Sakurai tosses the firearm to the side, landing on the floorboards with a distinct thud, and with his hands he reaches forward for Jun’s face, fingers framing his cheeks.  
  
It’s done, and Jun stands there, walls crashing down and leaving him vulnerable. His mind is full of noise, and he thinks, vaguely, if death comes for him tonight, he won’t even put up a fight.  
  
Jun waits, and for a beat it’s as if he can hear a pin drop, then Sakurai leans to claim his mouth, all fire and sweltering heat guzzling him, engulfing him, embracing him, igniting everything.  
  
Jun gives up and lets himself drown.  
  
Everything burns.


	5. Chapter 5

There’s nothing but red.  
  
He’s sinking, like there are hands dragging him down to the depths, like there’s an excruciating weight attached to his ankle that prevents him to rise. Jun can see nothing except red, turning black as his vision fades, air and consciousness leaving him.  
  
His eyes shoot open when he feels a strong grip on his shoulder, and his first instinct is to grab it in a punishing grip. His hand is wrapped around a thin wrist, so tight that he must be grinding the tiny bones there, but he can hear no expression of pain.  
  
His blurry eyesight soon focuses, and he finds himself holding Sakurai’s wrist in a relentless grip. Sakurai is merely looking at him in concern, heedless of the bruise that Jun will undoubtedly leave him.  
  
“You were dreaming,” Sakurai tells him, his voice so faint because of all the things Jun can hear: in his head, in his chest, out of his body. Everything is so loud.  
  
Jun doesn’t remember anything except a pool of blood that was sucking him in. He can recall nothing—how he got in Sakurai’s home, how he fell to the man’s bed.  
  
Jun’s head drops, his grip on Sakurai’s wrist loosening. He feels Sakurai pulling him close, and soon he finds his forehead pressed right against Sakurai’s chest, the steady thrum so far from Jun’s erratic ones.  
  
The flesh over Sakurai’s heart is warm, a soothing touch since Jun is beginning to shiver. Jun concedes to the comfort, moving closer to find more warmth. His breathing is still frantic, but his head is starting to clear.  
  
“Shh,” Sakurai whispers above him, fingers now stroking his scalp. “Shh. You’re here.”  
  
How did I get here, Jun wants to ask, but he doesn’t trust his voice not to crack. It doesn’t feel like he just woke up. It’s like he came back from a draining run and had achieved nothing except for blistering his feet. He feels more fatigued than ever, but it’s new that there’s someone to hold him after the nightmare. It was always him trying to coax himself back to reality.  
  
Each slide of Sakurai’s fingers through his hair helps slow his respiration, and Jun can feel the tension in muscles uncoiling. He has no concept of how many minutes pass as Sakurai holds him and calms him, but soon it’s becoming difficult to keep his eyes open.  
  
Sakurai withdraws a little, peering at his face. Jun never really noticed how plump and lush his mouth looks. His hand comes up unconsciously, fingers stroking lips that aren’t his own, mapping them, trying to memorize the texture of them.  
  
“Sleep,” Sakurai says, turning his head away and taking Jun’s hand in his. “Sleep. You’re safe here.”  
  
Jun finds himself obeying. His body moves on muscle memory, settling back under the covers. He has no strength to fight the vestiges of sleep gradually claiming him, and the last thing he senses are fingers tracing the skin of his forehead before he succumbs.  
  
\--  
  
When Jun rouses from his slumber, he is alone in an unfamiliar bed.  
  
He sits up groggily, and it takes a couple of seconds blinking before it registers that he isn’t wearing his clothes. He came to Sakurai’s home in a suit. He’s wearing a plain blue yukata, less extravagant than the ones he’s seen Sakurai wear. He’s not sore, muscles stiff from disuse and not from exertion, and he doesn’t remember anything aside from refusing to shoot Sakurai Sho.  
  
He moves to leave the room when he hears Nino’s unmistakable voice in the adjacent room, not caring for slippers.  
  
Jun ends up startling the waiting attendant by the door, but he pays it no mind, instead pads barefoot to the next room without so much as an apology for his intrusion.  
  
He finds Nino talking to Sakurai, a breakfast table arranged neatly between them.  
  
“Good morning,” Sakurai greets, but Jun only has eyes for Nino.  
  
Nino is on his feet in moments. “Are you all right?” He looks like he hasn’t slept a wink.  
  
Jun manages a nod.  
  
Nino breathes a sigh of relief. “First Aiba, then you. Don’t do that again,” he mumbles, running his hands over his face.  
  
“As I was saying, Ninomiya-san,” Sakurai says from his place on the floor, his smile not reaching his eyes, “he was never in harm’s way. At least not in my company.”  
  
Nino shoots Sakurai a look of extreme distrust. “Forgive me for having doubts, Sakurai-san. Your most recent card was to die for.”  
  
Sakurai cracks a smile, but to Jun it looks forced. “Will you join me for breakfast?” he asks, gesturing to the empty mats in front of them. “The kitchen prepared too much because I have guests.”  
  
Nino turns his gaze on the food. “How do we know you didn’t put anything in these?”  
  
Before Sakurai can open his mouth, Jun answers. “Because it’s disrespectful,” he says, knowing it’s what Sakurai would say. Sakurai smiles at him, warm and pleased. “It’s a waste of food.”  
  
Sakurai directs his attention to Nino, inclining his head in offer. “Please.”  
  
Jun gives Nino one pointed look before Nino relents, assuming the seiza once more. Jun imitates him, sitting closer to Nino since it’s a foreign house they’re both in.  
  
Sakurai says nothing aside from his graces, then he’s partaking. He takes a generous sip of his miso soup before he speaks. “I assume you didn’t come here just to retrieve Matsumoto-kun.”  
  
Jun frowns, turning to Nino, whose eyes are fixed on Sakurai. “I have business with you, Sakurai-san,” Nino acknowledges before facing Jun and bowing his head in apology. “It can’t wait, Jun-kun. I’m sorry.”  
  
“What can’t?” Jun is so out of the loop, and he grabs Nino’s shoulders to get the man to face him. “What happened? Did something happen to Aiba?”  
  
Nino grabs his wrists to still him. “Aiba’s fine. He’s a tough bastard. But I put his room in maximum security in case they come for him. His mom is going to look after him.”  
  
As if sensing his thoughts, Nino continues with a smile, “His dad’s going to look after the restaurant for a while, but I have the place under 24/7 surveillance. Aiba-shi needs a minor surgery—nothing more. The doctor says he can be back in a week or two, but since this is Aiba-san we’re talking about, it’s three days, tops.”  
  
That’s a relief to hear, and Jun visibly relaxes. Then he remembers, gaze shifting from Nino to Sakurai, who’s eyeing them with an expression Jun can’t name.  
  
“Why are you here, Nino?” he asks, suddenly wary.  
  
Nino shrugs off his grip, facing Sakurai once more. Nino is yet to touch his food, same with Jun. Sakurai is drinking his tea now, an eyebrow raised in curiosity.  
  
Nino bows. “I’m here to ask for your help in protecting Matsumoto Jun, Sakurai-san.”  
  
Jun can’t fathom what he’s hearing. He grabs Nino’s shoulder, but Nino keeps his head down. Wasn’t Nino the one so adamant about Sakurai being the perpetrator all along? What is going on?  
  
He hears Sakurai hum. “You’re asking your number one suspect to aid you in keeping your...boss, friend, whatever—” he waves his hand, “—safe? That’s hilarious. I never heard that before.”  
  
But he doesn’t laugh, merely eyes Nino as he picks up his chopsticks. He turns to Jun, inclining his head once more. “Please eat. I had the cook make those for you. I heard you like them.”  
  
Jun looks down and sees bamboo shoot rice in front of him, and to his left, there’s a platter of croquettes. Jun suspects it’s crab cream. He picks up his own chopsticks out of respect to his host, and he sees Sakurai focus back to Nino.  
  
“I dug up all the assassination attempts on you,” Nino says, lifting his face once more. Jun feels like an outsider listening to Nino talk to Sakurai. “Even the ones that began from your birth. It took a while, but I found answers.”  
  
“I wasn’t lying about being poisoned,” Sakurai says, catching on. He doesn’t appear to have taken offense at Nino’s doubt over his veracity. “But carry on, Ninomiya-san. Tell me what you want, and we’ll see if I can make it happen.”  
  
“You have the resources that we don’t,” Nino says, not sparing Jun a glance. Jun can’t eat; he can only look at Nino. Have things gone so bad that Nino is outright asking for Sakurai’s help?  
  
Yes, he answers in his head. Yes. They got Aiba. Things are more than bad.  
  
“And so you wish for me to extend these resources to you? It’s not so different from what Matsumoto-kun asked of me before. Only that instead of finding his killer, we’re also going to try to keep him away from harm.” Sakurai wraps his mouth around the lacquered strips of wood, chewing his rice.  
  
“I’m asking more than that,” Nino clarifies, and Jun has heard enough.  
  
He pulls at Nino’s shoulders once more, getting the man to face him. Nino looks so frail and worn out. He looks exactly like Jun whenever Jun wakes from a nightmare. Jun never wanted to see him like this. “What are you trying to do?” he demands.  
  
“Trying to keep you alive, what does it look like?” Nino snaps. “Do you think I’d ask for help if we don’t need it? He’s our best chance. Whoever’s after you might also be after him in the long run.”  
  
“Ah, so you want me to lend a hand so you’ll have a bigger bait?” Sakurai asks, obviously catching on. He smiles when they turn to him. “That’s quite clever, Ninomiya-san. I can’t say I didn’t think of it though. I almost suggested it to Matsumoto-kun, but I had a feeling he’d say no.”  
  
“Are you out of your mind?” Jun asks Nino, shaking him. Jun doesn’t want to involve any more people. The more people he interacts with, the more people are in danger. Even Aiba’s family is in danger now. He can’t risk all the people connected to him.  
  
“Maybe, maybe not.” Nino shrugs. “I don’t know, Jun-kun. If you have any other suggestion, please, share it. Because we’re not getting closer to finding anyone, and given the money you’ll get from the completion of the upcoming delivery, you’re becoming a bigger threat. I’m proposing to keep you safe before the delivery two weeks from now.”  
  
Jun’s eyes narrow in understanding. “You want me to disappear.”  
  
“For a while, yes. Until it has all calmed down. At least until the threat is gone. If you’re out of the spotlight, they can’t get to you.”  
  
Jun hears porcelain making contact against polished wood, and he sees Sakurai setting his bowl of rice aside. “I can see why you keep him around,” Sakurai says to him. “He’s smart.”  
  
Nino shrugs Jun’s hold off him and faces Sakurai once more.  
  
Sakurai smiles at him, lines forming around his eyes. “Now be clearer this time, Ninomiya-san. What do you want me to do?”  
  
“I’m asking for you to find a place where we can hide Jun-kun until all this has subsided.” Nino purses his lips. “You do have a safehouse in the mountains, yes?”  
  
Sakurai’s eyes widen fractionally. “I’m surprised you found out about that. No one knows about that house save for those who have used it.” He looks impressed. “And? You want me to lend it to Matsumoto-kun?”  
  
Nino shakes his head. “No.” It earns Jun’s frown and Sakurai’s as well. “I want you to join him there, Sakurai-san.”  
  
Jun is positive he’s mirroring Sakurai’s shock, but Nino doesn’t stop there. “I heard about it from Ohno-san,” Nino explains, tilting his head towards the door. “A dart, wasn’t it? The same kind?”  
  
Jun has no idea what Nino is talking about, but Sakurai straightens his back and regards Nino cautiously.  
  
“Satoshi-kun actually told you?” Sakurai sighs, but Jun can’t see no trace of surprise on his face. “And I thought it was our secret.”  
  
“When did that happen?” Jun asks, looking at Sakurai now. When the man doesn’t reply, he repeats his question. “When?”  
  
“After I taught you how to play,” Sakurai explains. It doesn’t seem like he’s talking about an attempt on his life, given his nonchalance. “I was in the garden when a dart came flying. Poor aim and timing, really, since it ended up killing not me but an attendant.”  
  
“Someone out there knows you’re working together,” Nino says. “And someone out there wants to do away with both of you. Maybe they were aiming for Jun-kun first. But now they also have their eyes on you, Sakurai-san. You won’t let yourself fall victim to their attempts, would you?”  
  
“No,” Sakurai replies immediately. “But that doesn’t mean I ought to go into hiding. I have business here. There are matters that need looking over. If they want to kill me—again, I presume—, they’re welcome to try.”  
  
Nino clicks his tongue in annoyance and sends Jun a fleeting glance. “You’re as stubborn as Jun-kun, you know that? I’m not asking for your business to cease operations. You can still pass on orders while you’re somewhere far, somewhere remote. Just...not here in the city. For now.”  
  
Jun has to admit—Nino thought this through. Nino researched tirelessly before he even considered proposing this plan.  
  
That doesn’t mean Jun likes it. He doesn’t want to go into hiding. He doesn’t want to be a coward. And from the looks of things, Sakurai seems to share his sentiments.  
  
“I will not be branded as a coward,” Jun says through his teeth. “I won’t allow it. My absence will only spur the rest of our enemies further; they will try to assert control over things that aren’t theirs. I won’t let that happen while I’m still alive.”  
  
“You won’t be absent,” Nino says sternly, almost admonishingly. “Both of you. Just not physically present, but whatever plans you’ve got, I’m certain you can put them in motion while you’re somewhere safe. Would you rather be headstrong and dead or smart and alive?”  
  
Sakurai doesn’t say a word, a frown creasing his face.  
  
“If they got to Aiba-shi, they’re going to get to you too,” Nino murmurs, and when Jun looks down, he sees Nino’s hands clenched into fists, shaking on top of his lap. “If I can, I won’t let that happen.” He faces Jun, eyes alight with resolve.  
  
Sakurai lifts a finger, and their attention shifts to him in an instant.  
  
“Did Satoshi-kun ask this of you, Ninomiya-san?” he asks, face devoid of emotion. Jun can’t tell what’s going on his mind; figuring out Sakurai’s intentions is still a work in progress.  
  
“Do you hold it against him?” Nino asks back. “He understands how I feel, standing at the side of a man destined to achieve great things while schemes and plots of his demise are happening behind his back.”  
  
“I can’t vouch for your loyalty to Matsumoto-kun,” Sakurai says, forefinger stroking his bottom lip, “but I can vouch for Satoshi-kun.” He exhales. “I will need time to consider. I am open to lending my safehouse to Matsumoto-kun should he wish to use it, but as for me joining him there...I will have to think about it.”  
  
“I’m not taking it,” Jun says flatly, ignoring Nino’s displeased look beside him. “If they’re taunting me to disappear, then I’m making them happy if I go into hiding.”  
  
Sakurai smiles at him. It’s a little distracting since he’s currently tapping on his lip with his finger. “Just because they failed in killing you so far doesn’t mean they’ll continue failing. To learn from one’s mistakes is a valuable skill. Since they can’t kill you, I’m assuming they turned their sights to me. Two birds, one stone.”  
  
“Then you admit that your safety as of late is also compromised,” Nino says. Sakurai’s attention shifts to him, eyebrow quirking, but it doesn’t intimidate Nino.  
  
Sakurai places one palm on the table and leans closer, studying Nino’s face. “Are you sleeping with my right-hand man? I didn’t fancy you to be one so concerned about my survival.”  
  
Jun raises a questioning eyebrow at Nino, who doesn’t flinch at the question. Nino hardly flinches at anything; he saves it for Aiba’s surprises. “But since you don’t listen to your right-hard man, Sakurai-san, it’s up to me to convince you and Jun-kun here that what I’m proposing is actually beneficial to the both of you in the end.”  
  
A part of Jun is in awe at how Nino managed to dodge the question, but then again, that’s how Nino is. Never the one to divulge anything about himself, but almost always accurate in his perception of people.  
  
“There are things that need to be taken care of,” Sakurai says, allowing himself a small smile at Nino’s answer. “Things I can’t handle if I’m hiding in the mountains.”  
  
“Then maybe you shouldn’t be the one handling them,” Nino tells him. “Delegation, Sakurai-san, have you heard of it?”  
  
Jun almost smiles at that, but he holds it in. He shares Sakurai’s view on this. “You can’t be suggesting to me that you’ll take care of it yourself?” he tells Nino, frowning at him. “There are things only I can do.”  
  
Nino sighs, and it’s part-exhaustion part-irritation, as far as Jun can tell. “And as I’ve said earlier, Jun-kun, you’ll still be doing them. Just not in the office or your apartment. Just not here.” Nino turns back to Sakurai. “Same goes for you, Sakurai-san.”  
  
Sakurai cocks his head to the side. “You’re not taking no for an answer, are you, Ninomiya-san?”  
  
Nino shakes his head once. “Jun-kun’s not the only stubborn person here.”  
  
That earns a laugh, hearty and loud. “Exactly like your boss in that aspect, I’d say.” Sakurai picks up his chopsticks and bowl of rice once more—they’ve been neglected for too long. “I will try to have an answer before the day ends. But I maintain my offer earlier: Matsumoto-kun is free to use the house should he wish it.”  
  
“I’m currently leaning towards no,” Jun says truthfully, not missing Nino’s exasperated sigh beside him.  
  
Sakurai points to Nino with his chopsticks. “You have a clever man by your side, Matsumoto-kun. Men like us stay alive when we listen to those smarter than us.”  
  
Nino straightens at that, and when Jun glances, he sees something like surprise on Nino’s face. Perhaps Nino didn’t expect the sudden praise, because the next thing Nino does is to bow his head in thanks.  
  
Jun picks up his chopsticks and finally takes a croquette. Crab cream, just like he thought. “I need to think about it.” He hates the feeling of Nino and Sakurai agreeing on something. They make him feel like a petulant, stubborn child for sticking to his beliefs. It’s frustrating and profoundly annoying.  
  
Nino seems to sense his mood and no longer says a word, instead partaking in the meal. Jun can feel Sakurai’s eyes on him as he eats, and he mumbles praise regarding the food, which makes Sakurai smile and turn away.  
  
\--  
  
Time, it appears, is not something Jun has.  
  
As soon as Nino manages to take him back to his apartment, he receives a call from an unknown number. Nino hasn’t left his place yet, and with Nino’s encouraging nod, he picks up.  
  
It’s Ohno on the other line, greeting him with a quiet “Matsumoto-san.”  
  
Jun puts his phone on speaker, and he nearly drops the device when he hears the rest of Ohno’s message for him.  
  
“They almost got Sho-kun. Again.”  
  
Jun was just with the man an hour ago. Nino is by his side in moments, expression of anger and fear evident on his youthful face. “Almost?” Jun clarifies, his own voice sounding hollow to his ears. “What was it?”  
  
“Sniper bullet,” Ohno replies, still with the same tone of calmness. “Not his first, but they only missed because Sho-kun happened to trip on a pebble.” A snort that Jun can’t interpret. “His clumsiness saved him this time.”  
  
Sakurai escorted them out of his house and seemed to have set his mind on taking a stroll around his garden. An old habit, he told them. Jun supposes he won’t be walking around outside for a while.  
  
“Where is he?” Jun asks. At Nino’s frown, he shakes his head. He’s not coming to see Sakurai; he’s just been there. But he needs to know what Sakurai is doing at present.  
  
Ohno stays silent for a couple of moments. Then he answers, “I believe he’s making calls.”  
  
“And why are you informing me of this, Ohno-san?” Jun asks, just as Nino turns away.  
  
He hears Ohno’s hum. “Maybe because I need you to convince Sho-kun to go to the mountains. He is not safe here, Matsumoto-san. His association with you has compromised him.”  
  
“Are you blaming me?” Jun snaps. He can hear Nino shuffling in his kitchen, perhaps preparing coffee.  
  
“I’m telling the truth,” Ohno replies, voice not accusatory. “I know Sho-kun won’t like it if he knows I’m talking to you. But if there’s anyone who can convince him to lie low for a while, I thought it might be you.” Ohno pauses, but when Jun’s about to open his mouth, he hears Ohno clear his throat. “He’s calling for me. My apologies for contacting you without notice, Matsumoto-san. I hope you have a good day.”  
  
The line is cut after that, and Jun sees Nino approaching him with two mugs of steaming coffee. Sakurai served them tea earlier, but Jun has always depended on coffee.  
  
Though considering Ohno’s news for him, he’s wide awake already.  
  
Nino doesn’t say a word, instead takes the mugs to the living room with him. Jun follows, taking a seat on his couch and accepts the mug from Nino with only a nod for a thank you.  
  
“I don’t have a choice, do I?” Jun asks in the ensuing silence. Nino is nursing his coffee, half of his face hidden. “I have to disappear.”  
  
“Not permanently,” Nino says. His face scrunches when his coffee is apparently still too hot for him. “I wish we didn’t have to ask for his help. But I had a feeling whoever’s targeting you also knows where your bases are, and that none of them are no longer safe. I’m sorry I took the liberty of asking Sakurai first.”  
  
“You came to his house for that,” Jun tells him. It’s just an observation.  
  
Nino purses his lips. “He gave me a call, you know.” At Jun’s frown, Nino sports a small grin. “Last night, you went there to confront him and kill him. I knew so I followed, but on my way, I received a call, telling me you’re safe and sleeping.” Nino’s head tilts. “Long night, Jun-kun?”  
  
There’s a playfulness in his tone as he asked the question, and Jun doesn’t miss it. “I don’t remember most of it.”  
  
Nino’s smile doesn’t waver. “That good?”  
  
Jun shakes his head. “No. I don’t remember, but I know I didn’t sleep with him. I only remember waking up in the middle of the night because I was drowning in my dreams.” He looks away, instead focuses on the ripples formed on the surface of his drink. “He woke me up, and when I calmed down, I fell asleep again.”  
  
“Was it your most peaceful sleep in a while?” Nino inquires.  
  
“I didn’t dream after,” Jun says. “I don’t know.”  
  
Nino sets his mug down the nearest table and approaches Jun, only to crouch in front of him. Jun finds Nino’s face on level with his. “Jun-kun, when I came to visit Aiba-shi last night, the first thing he said to me was to hide you. He asked me to keep you safe.” Nino moistens his lips and sighs. “He asked me, before the drugs kicked in and he had to sleep, to do everything I can to make sure you stay alive. He wasn’t dying, but because he can be overly dramatic sometimes, he acted like he was and told me all these things. Please accept Sakurai’s offer. If there’s any other way, I would have found it. But we can’t trust anyone, and we can’t alert your allies that someone’s after you, because they will ditch you once they know and save themselves first.”  
  
“Don’t they know?” Kato even said it was good to see him alive.  
  
“Not the details. I managed to keep that under wraps. Some of them believe it’s a rumor you started since they couldn’t find proofs. I’m doing my best to keep it that way. Better for them to think it’s a rumor than leave you hanging.” Nino exhales. “Please. Please lie low for a while and let this all pass. It’s important to us that you stay alive, no matter what happens.”  
  
“Why?” Jun asks, voice quiet. “Why is it so important? If I die, it all ends, doesn’t it? No one gets harmed anymore.” He can remember Aiba’s face, the feel and scent of Aiba’s blood in his hands. “No one gets hurt anymore because of me.”  
  
Nino gives him a determined look. “If you die, there’s no point in doing what we do anymore. We do it for you, because you’re the one leading us, because you’re the one who’s there to guide us. Aiba-shi and I...we’d gladly throw ourselves in the face of danger if it’s for you. You know this.”  
  
“And I wish I can do something about it,” Jun says, guilt gripping him.  
  
“That’s not up to you,” Nino admonishes. “Sometimes you just have to do what you can do. And right now I’m asking you to accept the offer and hide somewhere in the mountains. Where it’s safe. Stay safe until we find a hot lead.”  
  
“Are you getting close to finding one?” Jun asks, wondering how long is he going to stay hidden should he agree.  
  
Nino flashes him a smile. “With Ohno-san helping me, I believe I am. He’s been working behind his boss’ back for a while. Like me, he’s pissed his boss won’t listen to him.”  
  
“And like him, are you also working behind my back?”  
  
That gets Nino to laugh. “Already did that, didn’t I? I asked for Sakurai’s help and got his approval. All that’s left is for you to accept.”  
  
Jun doesn’t reply, instead finishes the rest of his coffee and stares at the dregs until they begin to dry up. Nino rises, complaining under his breath about his knees and his coffee growing cold, but other than that, he doesn’t say anything.  
  
When the silence has stretched long enough, Jun lifts his head to meet Nino’s eyes from across him.  
  
“Will you help me pack?” he asks.  
  
Nino smiles and nods. “You don’t have to ask.”  
  
\--  
  
While Nino is sorting out Jun’s best suits and shirts (Jun still wants to have a suit or two to take with him), he still manages to respond to every single instruction Jun leaves him with. Nino’s an exceptional multitasker, and he proves it once more while folding a dress shirt and inquiring about the specifics of the rest of the deliveries that are happening this month.  
  
Jun knows they have to act like everything’s normal, and that includes placating all their clients. They can’t know that Jun is somewhere else, but there will come a time that Jun will have to refuse a meeting. Only Nino and Aiba will know of his whereabouts, and Jun is confident they won’t divulge that information to anyone.  
  
The packing takes hours, because Jun would never settle for just one suitcase. While Nino helped him fold clothes, Nino also outlined the change in his duties which will be implemented as soon as Jun leaves for the safehouse.  
  
Considering his task done, Jun picks up his phone and dials Sakurai’s number. It’s early evening, and he’s nursing a glass of scotch as he waits for the call to be picked up. Nino is making his own calls, just like Jun ordered him to do.  
  
“Matsumoto-kun,” Jun hears in the next second, “you’re not thinking of storming inside my house to point a gun at me again, are you? I’m afraid there’s no shortage of people trying to murder me, so if you’re planning to visit, you may have to get in line.”  
  
Jun rolls his eyes, wishing Sakurai can see it. “I’m here to tell you that I’m accepting your offer.”  
  
He hears a sharp intake of breath from the other line. “Is that so?”  
  
“Yes.” Jun sips his scotch, remembering that the last time he drank one was the night after the funeral. It seems like an event from long ago. “I wish to leave in the morning.”  
  
“That can be arranged. Please ask Ninomiya-san to coordinate with Ohno-san. I have this impression they’re communicating already, so you can ask Ninomiya-san to get directions from Ohno-san.”  
  
Jun finishes the rest of his scotch in one gulp, wincing a little at the burn. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand before speaking again. “You misunderstand, Sakurai-san. I wish to leave in the morning, and you’re coming with me.”  
  
There’s a bark of laughter that rings in Jun’s ear. “What? Who put you up to this?”  
  
“No one,” Jun says smoothly. He doesn’t drop Ohno’s name, uncomfortable with the idea of betraying the man’s confidence for reasons unknown. “I heard about your stroll this morning.”  
  
“Quite eventful, wouldn’t you agree?” Sakurai asks, traces of amusement detectable in his tone.  
  
Jun lets out a long breath, hoping his patience would last. He never liked the playing-hard-to-get ones. The ones who are already convinced but are just making things difficult for him. “Come with me to where that house is,” he says, using his most charming and convincing tone. “I can’t leave while you remain here, not when I know they’re now after you because of me.”  
  
“I appreciate the thought, Matsumoto-kun,” Sakurai says, and this time, Jun can’t decipher his tone. “I’ll have the house arranged for you and ask Satoshi-kun to forward the address to Ninomiya-san.”  
  
“Sho-kun,” Jun says, using Sakurai’s name for the second time. He knows the line is about to get cut soon, and he can’t let that happen. “You’re not safe here. We’re not. If one of us dies, the other one is surely next. Are we going to just stand here and wait for that to take place?”  
  
“What’s in it for you?” Jun can hear doubt, the uncertainty seeping through Sakurai’s voice. “You once said you don’t care about my life. What do you get out of this? You don’t need me to be there with you, so I’ll ask again: who put you up to this? Was it Satoshi-kun? Why the sudden interest in my survival?”  
  
His first question is a repeat of Jun’s question months ago. Odd now that their roles are reversed. Jun twirls his empty glass in his hand, the rim glinting every now and then. He doesn’t remember much about last night, but he can recall enough. The blinding heat that lulled him to sleep, the comforting embrace that drove away his nightmares.  
  
“Because you kissed me,” Jun says, licking his lips just to remember, “and I liked it. I liked it too much to just leave you here to die.” He pours himself another glass of scotch. “Don’t play the hero. I don’t like heroes.”  
  
“You think if I stay, I’ll do it because of you?”  
  
Jun doesn’t need to think about that. “Yes.”  
  
He earns a laugh, soft but real, like he just said the right thing.  
  
“Come with me, Sho-kun,” Jun says again, finishing his scotch in one go. “Then we can think about how we’re going to kill them all.”  
  
A deep breath and a few beats that seem to stretch for a long time. “Are you done packing?”  
  
Jun grins. “And ready to leave whenever you are.”  
  
Another exhale. “Give me three hours.” He hears a shuffle of movement, like Sakurai getting to his feet. “Then I’ll meet you in your apartment. My house is not so safe at present.”  
  
“Three hours,” Jun repeats. “Don’t be late.”  
  
Sakurai laughs. “You’re very demanding tonight.”  
  
Jun’s smile broadens. “Get used to it.”  
  
He cuts the line after, and stands to search for Nino and inform him of the development.  
  
\--  
  
A SUV is what arrives after three hours, and Jun receives a text that simply said _I’m not late_ to inform him of its arrival. Jun is thankful that it’s not an extravagant, attention-seeking car or a limousine; that would just inform their killer of their plan in case someone’s watching them.  
  
After Jun finished loading his suitcases, he climbs to the backseat and finds Sakurai Sho seated on one side, dressed in a yukata in a darker shade of red, almost mahogany.  
  
“Nino’s coming,” Jun says, realizing that he forgot to inform Sakurai about this. “It’s better if he sees where it is.”  
  
Sakurai’s eyebrow quirks, but nothing more. He points to the driver just as Nino climbs in the passenger seat and shuts the door. “This is Koyama-kun. He’s the only one who knows where that house is.”  
  
“Ohno-san doesn’t know?” Jun asks, finding that to be impossible.  
  
Sakurai smiles. “He does, but he can’t drive. Allow me to rephrase. This is Koyama-kun, and he’s the only one who knows how to actually get to the house while driving a car.” Sakurai turns to Jun. “Is that better?”  
  
Jun sits back and fastens his seatbelt, acknowledging Koyama with a brief nod. “It will do.”  
  
Jun meets Nino’s eyes in the rear view mirror, and he can tell Nino’s close to smiling. Perhaps he’s glad that he managed to convince them to do this. Nino’s persuasion skills are better than Jun’s. Jun can only influence the people who are interested in him. Nino seems to have no limitations.  
  
They drive off, and they reach the freeway that leads them out of the city when Sakurai pulls something out from his yukata and hands it over to Jun.  
  
It’s Jun’s revolver from last night.  
  
“You left this,” is all he says to Jun, his eyes fixed outside.  
  
Jun takes it, and out of habit, he checks if the bullets are still inside. They are, and when he looks up again, he sees Sakurai smiling despite not looking at him.  
  
“You need to work on your trust issues, Matsumoto-kun,” Sakurai says on his left.  
  
“In time,” Jun replies, tucking the gun inside his suit jacket.  
  
Silence resumes after that, interrupted a few minutes later by Koyama who turns on the music player, while mumbling an apology to Sakurai for forgetting such a thing.  
  
Sakurai waves his hand. “It’s fine. But skip this track and play the quartet in C minor.”  
  
Koyama presumably follows, because soon Jun hears a piano quartet playing from the speakers. It’s another unfamiliar melody, but like the music Sakurai produced in the koto, it’s soothing despite its unpredictability. One moment Jun can only hear the softest notes, then the volume seems to escalate just as the theme shifts.  
  
There’s something beautiful with the series of notes he’s hearing, inexplicable in a good way. He’s not surprised that Sakurai is into such things; he was raised as a young master, and therefore took a bunch of lessons in his youth. Piano is likely one of them.  
  
The occasional buildings on the sides of the road soon disappear, replaced by thick trees that blend perfectly with the night. Jun has no idea where they are, but he knows Nino is keeping track. When Jun looks out the window, as far as his eyes can see, he sees a cloudless night sky.  
  
How long has it been since he had the time to admire the stars? He stares at them and remembers his young, innocent self thinking they are for the taking. That if you claim them, you’re whole, you’re now complete. One of his babysitters read a story to him once, and he never forgot what it said. That everyone came from stardust and has traces of the stars living inside them.  
  
If that is true, Jun thinks, then why is he often so devoid of warmth? If residues of stars reside in him, then why is his core so cold?  
  
His thoughts flit to the events of last night, of how easy it was to permit the flame to consume him. He welcomed it with open arms. And now that source of warmth is sitting so close, lost in his own world, absorbed in listening to a symphony that Jun will never be able to name.  
  
It’s when Jun darts one glance to his left, at Sakurai Sho’s serene and smiling face, that he feels it. He is startled, and immediately, he diverts his eyes elsewhere.  
  
A fire sparks in his heart, and he fears it may evolve into an inferno.  
  
\--  
  
The safehouse under Sakurai’s name is a villa situated deep in the mountains of Minakami. It’s a massive two-storey modern house, the entire view hidden mostly by the thick trees surrounding it. There’s a car in the garage that’s big enough to fit four, and Koyama parks the SUV there before he turns the engine off. He then gets off the vehicle to shut the gates behind them.  
  
Sakurai has fallen asleep sometime during the trip, and Jun wakes him up with a tap on his shoulder.  
  
“We’re here,” Jun says, just as Sakurai stirs.  
  
Sakurai cracks his neck joints, moaning a little when they popped. “I suppose you remember the way, Ninomiya-san?”  
  
Nino nods without looking at them. He raises his phone and shows that he’s been tracking the route via GPS. “Some place you’ve got, Sakurai-san.”  
  
Sakurai snorts and unfastens his seatbelt. “Ask Satoshi-kun for the landline. I honestly don’t remember. I haven’t been here in years.”  
  
Jun unclasps his seatbelt and looks out. Koyama is opening the main door and turning the lights of the front porch on, giving Jun a view of the freshly mowed lawn and a well-maintained garden. Not as big and colorful as Sakurai’s garden back in the city, but even under the minimal lighting, Jun can see that someone must be taking care of this place.  
  
“You have a caretaker,” Jun states.  
  
“Naturally. Why did you think I asked for three hours?”  
  
Jun faces him. “I thought you needed time to pack.”  
  
Sakurai laughs. “Nonsense. I had the house stocked. I only brought a few of my belongings with me. I still have clothes there.” He opens his door and inclines his head in invitation. “Shall we?”  
  
Without waiting for a response, Sakurai climbs off the vehicle and makes his way to the house’s entrance. Jun meets Nino’s eyes in the rear view mirror.  
  
“You’ve got what you wanted,” Jun tells him.  
  
Nino shrugs. “I’ll unload your things. Go and have a look around.”  
  
Jun follows without another word, and as soon as he’s out of the car, he’s struck by how cold it is despite being the middle of spring. Even under his suit jacket, he can feel the night breeze steadily blowing from the mountains and rustling the leaves and branches surrounding him.  
  
He buttons his suit jacket and heads for the main door, nodding at Koyama who gives him a polite bow before presumably helping Nino to unload the suitcases.  
  
The inside is far spacious than Jun imagined. There are contemporary paintings hanging off the walls of the living room, but the furniture looks brand new. There appears to be a certain theme for each room, but they all give off the feeling of minimalism.  
  
Jun has seen the kitchen (which has a mini bar that’s fully stocked with all kinds of liquor), dining room, living room with a grand piano, before he hears footsteps approaching him.  
  
“Ready to see the bedrooms?” Sakurai asks, like Jun’s a client and he’s a salesman.  
  
Jun extends his hand in the direction of the stairs. “Lead the way.”  
  
Sakurai does, showing him two guest rooms of similar design and one master’s bedroom. Jun only takes a peek in the latter, and when he turns, he finds Sakurai leaning against the doorframe of a closed room.  
  
As if sensing his thoughts, Sakurai smiles. “This one is off-limits.”  
  
Jun’s eyebrow quirks. “What happened to me trusting you?”  
  
Sakurai sighs. “There are no weapons of mass destruction hidden in here. There are also no carcasses or corpses to worry about. I’m most certainly am not concocting poisons of any kind in here.”  
  
“Then why not show me?”  
  
Sakurai gives him a look. “You’re not interested in my childhood. And I have no wishes to revisit it.”  
  
Jun frowns at that. “You grew up here?” It was unthinkable. The house looks trendy overall.  
  
“Do I look like I did?” Sakurai shakes his head. “I grew up far from Minakami. But I had things I didn’t want to do away with. I moved them here. And now you know what’s inside. Happy?”  
  
Jun’s gaze flits to the closed door for a moment before snapping back to Sakurai’s face. “I’ll take the guest room.”  
  
“Which one?”  
  
Jun smiles, walks past him, and heads for the stairs.  
  
He finds Nino waiting at the foot of the stairs and hears Sakurai descending behind him.  
  
“Some place you have here, Sakurai-san,” Nino says again, this time with genuine awe and praise.  
  
Sakurai only laughs and turns to Koyama. “Koyama-kun, have Satoshi-kun inform Itao-san that as long as I’m staying here, he only needs to tend to the garden and the pool. He can leave the cleaning of the house to us.” Sakurai’s eyes flit to Jun’s, and Jun tilts his head in the briefest of nods.  
  
Koyama bows in acknowledgement. “Will there be anything else, Sho-san?”  
  
“Well, I think Matsumoto-kun needs help with his things.” Sakurai grins and heads for the kitchen. “After that, you’re free to go. Thank you for everything.”  
  
Koyama bows once more and moves to take one of Jun’s suitcases.  
  
“Second door to the left, please,” Jun says, moving out of the way. When Nino moves to follow Koyama while also carrying a suitcase, Jun stops him with a hand on his shoulder. “Keep me posted. On the way back, when you get home, send me a message.”  
  
“I plan to visit Aiba-shi after I get back,” Nino says, smiling at him. “The idiot’s done with his stitches, but he’s definitely going to push himself so I need to whack some sense into him.”  
  
Jun returns the smile. “Buy him flowers for me, would you?”  
  
“Sure,” Nino says, and Jun finally lets his hand fall.  
  
Soon, Koyama and Nino bid them goodbye, shutting the door behind them with a decisive click followed by the sounds of the security alarm being activated.  
  
Jun heads for the kitchen and finds Sakurai in the mini bar.  
  
“Scotch?” Sakurai offers. “Whiskey? Vodka? Brandy? Wine? What will it be?” He’s nursing his own glass, and Jun thinks it’s brandy.  
  
“Whatever you’re having,” Jun says, deciding to be gracious to his host. He removes his suit jacket, draping it on the counter before taking a seat and loosening his tie. “You bartend too?”  
  
Sakurai chuckles. “Don’t be absurd.” He pushes a glass in front of Jun. “Are you going to wear a suit the entire time we’re here?”  
  
“Depends.” Jun gives him a once over, or at least until that part of his body that is not obscured by the bar counter. “Are you going to be in yukatas all the time?”  
  
“I’m not sure I have any other kind of clothing,” Sakurai says. It’s likely a lie, but Jun lets it pass.  
  
He raises his glass. “Please keep me in your favor, Sakurai-san.”  
  
“What happened to ‘Sho-kun’?”  
  
Jun grins. “Sho-kun,” he amends. He supposes he should start getting used to saying that, if they’re going to live together for a while.  
  
Sho clinks their glasses together and doesn’t say anything else.  
  
\--  
  
Sho, Jun discovers, is helpless in the kitchen.  
  
“You can’t even operate a toaster?” Jun asks, arms crossed as he leans against the kitchen counter. He woke up to the noises coming from the kitchen, and he arrives to the sight of Sho frowning at the machine while holding sliced bread in his hands.  
  
“This is different from the one I have at home,” Sho says, but Jun catches the slight blush coloring his cheeks. “And good morning. I hope you had a nice sleep?”  
  
Jun had to pop two sleeping pills in order to find rest, but it was worth it. He didn’t even feel that he was sleeping in an unfamiliar bed. He underestimated the depths of his exhaustion and as soon as the medication took effect, he was knocked out.  
  
Jun chooses not to dignify him with a reply, instead elbows him out of the way. “Be honest. Do you know your way around this part of the house?” Sho has the image of being raised as a pampered master; it’s highly possible he’s accustomed to having people cook and do the rest of the chores for him.  
  
Sho refuses to look at him. “Do you think I’m a child?”  
  
“No.” Jun points to the coffee maker. “You can use that, at least? Leave the food to me.”  
  
Sho thankfully obeys without another complaint. The fridge is completely stocked (much to Jun’s delight), and Jun prepares miso soup and fries some eggs to accompany the toast.  
  
They eat breakfast in silence; Jun with looking around since the house appears slightly different in the morning, Sho with reading a newspaper.  
  
After breakfast, Jun checks his phone and starts coordinating with Nino. He sets up camp in the living room, reading through the files Nino forwarded to him sometime in the night. Contracts and updates about deliveries, some about order revisions. It eats up his time, and since he doesn’t see Sho anywhere, he assumes the man is also working somewhere in the house. It’s big enough that it’s not a wonder if Jun doesn’t see him for a long while.  
  
Jun is open to his clients giving him a call, just not for a personal meetup since he’s supposedly hiding. Any updates regarding the search for his assassin are forwarded straight to his phone; Nino is cautious that someone might be hacking into Jun’s laptop despite all the security measures they’ve taken.  
  
For his late afternoon break, Jun decides to take a stroll outside. The living room has a glass sliding door that leads straight to the garden, and opening it brings a gust of wind that sends Jun’s skin to gooseflesh. He can hear birds chirping overhead, and despite the sun being mostly hidden behind the trees, it provides enough illumination for Jun to have a look around.  
  
He walks barefoot on the grass, the blades tickling his soles a little. There’s a path made of cobblestones in the garden, and Jun follows it until he reaches the pool and an unobstructed view of the mountains.  
  
It’s breathtaking. There’s a traditional Japanese-style pool in front of him, but beyond that is a clearing in the trees that shows the cliffs and the mountain ranges of Minakami. Jun can only look out, wishing he can catalog everything. Since his ascension, he hasn’t found the time for anything like a vacation. He forgot how enchanting nature is outside the bustling city.  
  
A splash rouses Jun from his thoughts, and he sees Sho rising from the pool, hands coming up to wipe the droplets that ran down his face. Sho’s back is turned to him and it’s the first time he sees it: the inky patches of skin that formed his back, the half of the intricate drawing disappearing under the water. There’s a mixture of faded blue, red, green, and yellow that colored his skin, covering up to his shoulder blades. The picture moves with each muscle shift, and Jun is inevitably drawn to it.  
  
Sho seems to sense he’s not alone, because he turns around and blinks at Jun.  
  
Having been caught staring, Jun wills himself not to make a fool of himself further by being embarrassed.  
  
Sho doesn’t say anything, but he’s slowly making his way to the edge of the pool where Jun stands. Jun is not in his suit (he has an image but he’s also practical), instead in a pair of linen trousers and a loose white cotton top. He feels dressed down since Sho has never seen him out of his expensive suits before, but then again, he also hasn’t seen Sho out of his yukata before.  
  
Almost, that one time in Sho’s house when he still wanted to kill the man. But this is the first time Jun is seeing him along with that tattoo that covered his back.  
  
“What is it?” Jun asks before he can help it.  
  
Sho peers up at him, wet strands of dark brown hair framing his face. His eyelashes are glistening, and Jun is having a hard time looking away from the droplets of water that line the angle of his jaw.  
  
“What’s what?”  
  
Jun gestures with his chin. “What’s on your back?”  
  
Realization dawns on Sho, and he lets out a tiny laugh. “Oh. That.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Satoshi-kun drew it.”  
  
“That doesn’t answer my question,” Jun says, then he bends down to roll the hems of his trousers up. He sits on the edge of the pool, legs soaked up to his knees. The water is hot but not scalding, yet it still takes Jun a while to get used to the temperature.  
  
Sho is leaning against the bank now, mere centimeters from where Jun sits, his arms folded in front of him as he rests his head on top of them. “Would you like to have a look?”  
  
The sun is beginning to set, and the orange hue that rains upon them kisses Sho’s tanned skin and giving it an almost ethereal glow.  
  
Jun can’t look away even if he wants to.  
  
“Will you let me?” he asks quietly, as if there’s someone who can hear them.  
  
Sho smiles and pushes himself off the bank, using the momentum to float away, legs kicking lightly to propel him further. “Come and see.”  
  
Jun allows himself a minute to think, to weigh pros and cons. His curiosity wins out, and he moves to stand as he fists at the edges of his shirt, finding someplace to drape it over.  
  
There are chairs surrounding the pool, orb-like in design with a real mattress in them. Jun finds only a towel and bathrobe in one, and he starts to shed off his clothes. He has a feeling Sho is watching so he takes his time, folding each item neatly until he has stripped down, only his necklace left on his person.  
  
Jun decides to leave it on and enters the pool, shivering a little at the change in temperature. It’s warmer than he thought, and he finds Sho doing a backstroke lazily, intentionally not giving Jun a view of his back now that he knows that Jun is curious.  
  
Jun swims his way towards Sho and manages to grab the man’s wrist to get his attention.  
  
“Show me,” Jun says, and Sho smiles. The sun reflected on his body makes his eyes shine.  
  
Sho turns around without uttering anything, and since the water in this part only rises up to Jun’s stomach, he can see most of it.  
  
It’s a portrait of an old god with red skin and a dragon for its face. There are four circles on its back connected by a fine line of yellow, and the background is an elaborate drawing of clouds colored in white and blue.  
  
The whole picture glistens because of the water and the sun’s rays touching it, and Jun reaches out to touch the edges of it, right above the skin of Sho’s shoulder.  
  
“It’s beautiful,” he says honestly, captivated by the way it shifts and shines in different angles depending on Sho’s movements.  
  
“Satoshi-kun is quite talented,” Sho brags. “Took him a long time to finish it, but in the end, it’s worth it.” Sho looks over his shoulder. “It’s Raijin, the god of storms, lightning, and thunder.”  
  
Jun knows the tradition. “And where’s Fujin?” Fujin is the god of wind, and usually, he comes as a pair to the one on Sho’s back. Jun traces the tattoo’s monstrous face, the depiction of the god in its demon form.  
  
Sho shivers, and Jun can feel it under his fingertips. Sho lets out a breathless laugh, causing the tattoo to move in accordance with him. “No space left for him, is there?”  
  
“No.” Jun runs his fingers on Sho’s skin lightly, wanting to memorize this god’s appearance on the expanse of Sho’s back. The faded red that colors most of Sho’s back suits him in a manner Jun can’t explain. He strokes the ends of the tattoo on Sho’s nape, remembering the blue that first hinted him of its existence back on their first meeting.  
  
Sho exhales, and Jun is warm in ways that has nothing to do with the hot spring. Sho stands unmoving, but he’s trembling in place, like he’s bracing himself for something and he’ll snap once it occurs.  
  
“Jun,” Sho says, and it’s deep and breathy, like he’s holding on to the last vestiges of his control. It’s the first time Jun hears his name from Sho’s lips. “Do you know what you’re doing?”  
  
Jun remembers that night in Sho’s house, how he’d turned up desperate and confused and angry—a train wreck of emotions that he always had in abundance. There’s no confusion now, but there’s a fire on the pit of stomach that urges, begs him to do something.  
  
He knows now.  
  
“Yes,” Jun answers, ducking down a little to inhale Sho’s scent: masculine and musky, making Jun’s head spin. He’s heady, and the setting sun that blankets them seems to depict exactly how warm he feels.  
  
“I know.” Jun leans down and presses his mouth to Sho’s nape, right above the blue-colored skin. Sho melts at the touch, and Jun wraps his arms around Sho’s form as Sho sags against him. He breathes in Sho’s scent and kisses the corner of Sho’s jaw.  
  
Sho turns his head to the side and Jun reaches up to brush away the wet strands that covered his eyes.  
  
Their eyes meet, and Jun sees nothing but black that threatens to suck him in.  
  
He gives in and covers Sho’s mouth with his own, and it’s as hot as he remembers, only this time, Jun wants more of it. He can’t get enough, can’t help himself, one hand cupping Sho’s face so he can kiss him deep, swallow all the delicious noises he’s making as Jun dares with his tongue and tastes everything.  
  
He can feel Sho’s fingers travel up to tangle themselves in his hair, pushing him closer, and Jun tightens his hold around Sho’s trunk in response. He breaks off the kiss to taste Sho’s skin, scattering pecks along his jaw, down his neck. Sho’s breathing heavily, his hand a reassuring guide as Jun explores till he reaches the skin of Sho’s angular shoulder.  
  
He sinks his teeth lightly on the flesh, delighting in Sho’s startled hiss. Jun can feel himself stirring because of the sounds Sho’s making, and he presses his erection to Sho’s hip as he licks a long swipe from the bony tip of Sho’s shoulder up to the crook of his neck.  
  
Jun pulls Sho back against him and reaches down, past Sho’s navel until his hand closes over Sho’s half-hard cock. A breathless moan escapes from Sho’s lips, and Jun nips and sucks on his earlobe, smiling when he feels the mark of a former piercing under his tongue.  
  
The first stroke has Sho biting his bottom lip, and Jun nuzzles the junction where his jaw meets his neck. They’re somewhere in the mountains, the villa all to themselves. No one’s playing witness save for the trees and the sky that’s turning purple, the first stars appearing over their heads.  
  
“Let me hear you,” Jun whispers, hand moving slowly on Sho’s shaft. No one’s here to listen to Sho falling apart in his hands except for him. It’s all his—this moment at this time, Jun is in complete control after feeling so out of it for so long.  
  
He wants to savor it. He seeks to drive Sho mad with his slow but firm strokes, feeling Sho shudder against him, and when Jun twists his wrist just so, he finally gets it: Sho moans, head lulling back against Jun’s shoulder, and Jun wants to hear him make that sound over and over. It’s made for him, purely for him.  
  
It’s his.  
  
“Again,” he says against Sho’s quickened pulse, growing bolder with each noise that escapes from Sho’s lips. “Again.”  
  
One of Sho’s hands grasps his bicep firmly, squeezing hard when Jun moves his hand faster. Sho’s hips are bucking back, his eyes shut and mouth parted, and Jun’s a slave to the pleasure Sho’s vocalizing.  
  
Jun encourages him, murmuring filthy nonsense in Sho’s ear while his movements grow feverish. It’s strange that he’s the one begging Sho to give in, but it doesn’t feel like a weakness. Under the day giving way to the night, sky gradually transforming to darkness dotted with twinkling stars, Jun feels invincible and unstoppable.  
  
Out here, away from prying eyes and murderous intentions, Sho loosens up and lets go, a breathy version of Jun’s name becoming his mantra. Like he’s been waiting to say it for so long and it has finally broken free, unleashed from somewhere within.  
  
It’s a symphony of Sho’s design, and it sounds divine in Jun’s ears.  
  
In the silence that surrounds them, in their seclusion that lies hours away from all the chaos, Jun thinks of storm gods and imagines the price of their seduction.


	6. Chapter 6

Jun cooks because it helps him think. It’s comforting to hear the sizzle of the ingredients he sautées in the pan. The inviting aroma soon arrives, mixes with Jun’s thoughts and adds flavor to them.  
  
He can’t forget the sight, feel, and smell of Sho earlier. He cooks in order to think of something _else_ , but his contact memory is sharper than he took it for. His head is full of primary colors in faded shades, scattered across smooth, tanned skin that he had power over.  
  
It’s been too long since Jun felt that.  
  
He focuses on preparing dinner, not hearing Sho anywhere near him. Jun prefers it that way for now; he has plans not to starve. Plans that he stuck with to the point of holding himself back, pulling away from Sho despite the temptation.  
  
Jun licks his lips, remembering Sho’s taste. It won’t leave him; like a brand that sticks and stays and haunts, taunts the craving inside him. His hands remember how Sho’s body quaked, the sensation of him willing and wanting in Jun’s hold.  
  
“Fuck,” Jun curses under his breath, a drop of sauce smearing the counter. He lost his grip on the ladle for a moment. He exhales and shuts his eyes, extending his neck upwards to get his bearings once more.  
  
He grows increasingly uncomfortable as the heat of the kitchen begins to smother him, his clothes sticking to him in the way he hates. He didn’t dry off properly from the pool earlier, and he set to cook as soon as he went back inside the house. He didn’t give Sho the chance to touch him in return, and his mind is littered with questions because of it.  
  
When he’s done preparing the linguine that he set his eyes on for dinner, he carries the plates to the dining room. There’s a set of sliding doors that lead to a part of the garden, and outside, Jun can make out Sho speaking to someone on his phone.  
  
Jun slides the door open and leans against it, arms crossed over his chest. Sho turns to him, and Jun doesn’t miss how Sho’s eyes scanned his form before moving back up to his face.  
  
“I made dinner,” he says.  
  
“That will be all, Satoshi-kun,” Sho says on the corner of his mouth before putting the phone down. He’s only wearing a plush bathrobe, his hair still wet from earlier.  
  
Jun stares at him, waits for him to say something.  
  
“I’ll tell you after dinner,” Sho says, moving past him towards the bar to grab a bottle of wine.  
  
Jun follows and stops by the table and sits while Sho procures two glasses and pours wine for them both.  
  
“1983,” Sho says as he takes a seat. Jun can’t keep his eyes off the leftover droplets of water adorning Sho’s neck and parts of his chest that’s exposed in the slightly opened bathrobe. “Your birth year.”  
  
He’s talking about the wine, Jun realizes. “Is that so?” He holds the glass close to his face and inhales. Sweet and rich, its dark color reminding Jun of Sho’s yukata from last night. He samples it and licks his lips to savor the flavor.  
  
“Good?” Sho asks, already picking up his fork.  
  
More than that, but Jun doesn’t want to make things easy for him. “It would suffice.”  
  
Sho smiles before saying his graces, and Jun watches as his eyes grow wide after he puts the fork in his mouth.  
  
“You’re good,” Sho says, cheeks protruding, eyes dancing. “This is really, really good.”  
  
Jun picks up his fork and doesn’t say anything, but he does permit himself a tiny smile at Sho’s sincere praise. Seeing Sho stuff his face is enough proof of his truthfulness, and they spend the rest of the dinner in silence, only interrupted by Sho’s intermittent praises.  
  
When dinner’s done, Sho offers to clear the table and take care of the dishes.  
  
Jun accepts, but only because he knows Sho’s prolonging in telling him whatever Ohno called him about. It has to be important. Either Sho is biding his time and rehearsing how to open the topic or he’s just enjoying depriving Jun as much as Jun enjoyed the distraught look on Sho’s face earlier when he withdrew himself.  
  
Jun was planning to have a bath after dinner, but instead he plops himself up the kitchen counter and observes how Sho washes off the leftover bits of sauce sticking to the porcelain.  
  
When Sho starts to twitch at being stared at, Jun resists the urge to smile.  
  
“Ninomiya-san’s primary suspect,” Sho begins, but Jun cuts him off.  
  
“Is you.”  
  
Sho chuckles at that. “Well then. His secondary suspect.”  
  
Now they’re talking. “Reizei,” Jun replies.  
  
“I thought so,” Sho says, nodding. “Nothing like your number one competitor in arms dealership to want you gone.”  
  
“What about him?”  
  
Sho’s hands still in rinsing off the last plate. “He’s missing.”  
  
Jun’s eyes widen, his breath hitches. “Since when?”  
  
“Satoshi-kun told me he’s supposedly in a trip to Nara. For business. He was expected to arrive back in the city via his private jet, but word has gone out that they’re looking for him.” Sho finishes tidying up and wipes his hands with a dishcloth. He turns, leaning against the sink. “If they don’t find him, they’re going to suspect you.”  
  
“I’m not trying to kill anyone,” Jun says immediately.  
  
Sho nods. “I know that. But they don’t. There are those who will simply find another supplier in the event that he doesn’t turn up. That means more money for you. But still, there will be some who will try to look for him and think you killed him.”  
  
Jun scoffs. “Let them think what they want. I didn’t kill him. I haven’t even seen his face in person.”  
  
“But no one knows that,” Sho says, patient in a way Jun doesn’t understand. “And technically, you’re missing too.”  
  
“So you think some of them will interpret my absence as me killing him?”  
  
“Some might go for that. The idiotic ones. But the smarter ones might wonder if someone’s beginning to target us all.”  
  
Jun’s brows knit together, finally catching on. “You’re hoping that with his disappearance, along with ours, we can snuff out the mastermind if ever he’s one of the leaders?”  
  
Sho grins, tilts his head. “Yes. Something like that. Whoever’s trying to kill us both has probably realized we’re not in the city anymore. Maybe he’s moving on to the others on his list. Maybe he’s planning to use them to draw us out. Either way, I believe we should wait it out, and I asked Satoshi-kun to do the same.”  
  
“While still continuing the search, yes?”  
  
“Of course.”  
  
Jun leans back by resting his palms behind him. “Does Nino know this?”  
  
“I think he was informed of it before I was,” Sho says. “He and Satoshi-kun seem awfully close lately.”  
  
Well, so are we, Jun thinks, giving Sho a pointed look.  
  
“That’s all Ohno-san’s got for you?” Jun says instead.  
  
“The rest of the message is concerning my personal affairs,” Sho replies. Jun can’t tell if that is the truth, but he has no choice but to take Sho’s word for it. “Nothing for you to worry over.”  
  
Jun takes a deep breath before getting off the kitchen counter and walking away. “Thank you for informing me.”  
  
He struts to the living room and powers his laptop back on, finding a series of unaddressed messages from Nino. Things he postponed for what he thought would be a quick garden stroll. His phone only contains three messages, one of which is from Aiba, thanking him for the flowers along with a selfie of his attempt at winking. The other two are from Nino, consisting of the same information as Sho gave him.  
  
Jun replies accordingly to both and deletes Nino’s messages after. He snaps his laptop shut and carries only his phone with him, shutting off all the lights before making his way up the stairs. The house is dark and silent, and he has a feeling Sho’s in his own room. Sho has taken the master’s bedroom for himself, and upon reaching the second floor, Jun sees said room’s door ajar, lights on.  
  
Sho’s nowhere to be found, but he might be using the bathroom for all Jun knows.  
  
Jun enters his own room and charges his phone before opting for a shower, his thoughts running as soon as the water touches his skin.  
  
If his top competitor ends up dead (and Jun is starting to believe he might be), it can be a cause for panic once everyone realizes that Sho has also vanished from the city. The speculations will pile up, and Jun’s certain some of those will be about Sho knowing about the murder plot ahead of everybody else.  
  
As far as Jun is aware, not even his closest allies know how many attempts there had been on his life lately. Nino worked tirelessly to keep it secret, and since Sho has the means and resources that they don’t, it’s safe to assume that no one knows about the attempts made on Sho either.  
  
They will panic, Jun thinks, thoroughly convinced. They will think I’m dead, even. Some might rejoice, but they will panic once they realize whoever’s after me is not stopping with me.  
  
It’s a satisfying thought, in a way, that his killer is instilling terror with his help, helping to boost Jun’s reputation. If he survives this, he’ll get all the respect and fear he deserves.  
  
I have to live, he decides, scrubbing his body harder in hopes of cleansing himself off the negative thoughts he once had regarding his life. He vows never to entertain them again.  
  
I can’t let them take me down.  
  
\--  
  
The succeeding days pass with Jun focusing on work. Nino informs him that his most recent delivery happened without any incidents, and Jun thanks him for overseeing things on his behalf. Aiba has recovered but since Jun is somewhere in Minakami, he sends Aiba to his family’s restaurant to help out (and also to act as a bodyguard since he’s trained for it).  
  
When Jun is not working, he trains his body.  
  
There’s a gym at the first floor of the house, just after the spacious living room. It has exercise bikes, treadmills, and all kinds of weights Jun can consider using, and in his spare time, he makes use of the room.  
  
Sometimes Sho joins him, dressed in a shirt and training shorts that showed off the curve of his ass. He used to think that Sho wears the things to attract his attention, but upon observation, he realizes that Sho simply has a pert bottom.  
  
Whenever they train together, Jun would feel Sho staring at him. He stares in equal measure, but only when Sho’s bending over that he can’t catch Jun doing it. They talk, but mostly about the developments in the ongoing search for their killer.  
  
Sho’s eyes would stray sometimes, but when Jun waits, he does nothing. They’ve fallen to a routine of sorts: work, occasional training, occasional flirting, meals together that are filled with serious topics and actual concerns over each other’s businesses.  
  
One time, when Sho shows up in the gym in his usual training outfit, Jun makes him an offer while sitting on a balance ball. This quiet life in the mountains is beginning to bore him, and sometimes, he feels as if the silence will drive him mad.  
  
“Spar with me,” he says, eyes serious.  
  
Sho quirks an eyebrow. “There’s no shortage of punching bags for you to beat up.”  
  
It’s true; Jun has mastered taping his hands and landing a few good hits on the punching bags once in a while. But a punching bag doesn’t fight back and does nothing except for enhancing his endurance.  
  
Jun requires interaction. “Spar with me,” he says again. His hands are taped already, and he’s done with his stretches and worked up a good sweat. His testosterone levels must be rising, because all he can think of is how to use this unspent energy threatening to break out from within.  
  
“What’s in it for me?” Sho asks, but his tone makes it seem like he’s leaning towards yes already.  
  
Jun thought this offer through. “Whoever wins gets to ask the loser to do what he wants.”  
  
That successfully captures Sho’s attention, eyes narrowing at him. “Anything he wants?”  
  
“Anything.” Jun gets off the balance ball and kicks it to the corner, bare feet padding against the mats. “I’ll do your laundry if you win.”  
  
Sho laughs, and Jun sees him pulling out boxing wraps. He begins taping his hands, doing it so slowly that it leaves Jun watching him impatiently. “If I win, there’s no way I’ll settle for something as shallow as the laundry.”  
  
“ _If_ you win,” Jun says challengingly, beckoning Sho to come at him once Sho approaches the mat. Sho does a couple of stretches first, but he pays particular attention to his legs, undoubtedly showing off his assets to Jun.  
  
When Sho begins to size him up, Jun braces himself.  
  
Jun manages to evade the first jab aimed for his solar plexus, sidestepping and deflecting the punch at the same time. He grins when he feels the momentum; Sho’s all in and not holding back.  
  
Jun sinks to one knee when Sho aims for his head, spinning on his heel in an attempt to hit Sho with his elbow. Sho ducks and successfully lands a good hit on Jun’s side, and Jun retaliates with delivering a strong punch to Sho’s stomach.  
  
Sho stumbles back, breathing heavily, eyes wild. “Spar, you said.”  
  
“I didn’t say it was friendly,” Jun retorts, grinning.  
  
Sho lunges, and Jun holds his ground with his arms raised, shielding himself from Sho’s blows. But it’s apparently a ploy, because soon Jun is knocked off-balance with a sudden swing of Sho’s leg under him.  
  
“One-zero,” Sho says, smirking at him.  
  
Instead of pulling himself back on his feet, Jun uses his current position for leverage and lands a swift kick to Sho’s legs, sending him to his knees. Then Jun wraps his legs around Sho’s hips, flipping them.  
  
Sho lands on the mat with a groan, and Jun smirks down at him. “One-one.”  
  
Jun allows Sho some slack, getting off him and keeping his distance while he clenched and unclenched his hands. Adrenaline is spiking in him, combining with his competitiveness.  
  
As soon as Sho is on his feet, Jun tries to land a hit on Sho’s chest, but Sho blocks it, hand wrapping around Jun’s fist.  
  
“Where did you learn to fight like this?” Sho asks, reaching down to stop Jun’s other hand from landing another punch.  
  
Jun smiles. “Training grounds.”  
  
“What?”  
  
Jun uses Sho’s confusion to free himself from Sho’s grip, and he manages to hit Sho square in the jaw. Sho recoils, stepping back and thumbing at the corner of his mouth.  
  
“Two-one,” Jun smugly declares. Remembering Sho’s question, he repeats, “Training grounds. I didn’t grow up in the city. Far from it, and when I was young, I was home-schooled, and spent the rest of my days training.”  
  
“Have you ever lost a fight?” Sho asks, cracking his neck joints. They’ve both worked up a good sweat, panting and flushed. Jun sees Sho darting out his tongue to lick his bleeding lip.  
  
Jun smiles. “In my first years.”  
  
They’re circling each other now, and Jun braces himself for any attack. He doesn’t have to wait long; Sho takes a step and is able to punch Jun in the ribs. It’s probably not as strong as Sho would do in another situation, but it’s enough to make Jun gasp.  
  
“Two-two,” Sho states.  
  
Teeth bared, Jun bends his leg at the knee and tries to hit Sho in the stomach, but Sho evades, maneuvering his trunk so he can jam his shoulder right to Jun’s chest, sending Jun back on the ground with a gasp.  
  
Wind knocked out of him, Jun groans when Sho straddles him, hands grabbing his wrists to pin him down.  
  
Leaning down, Sho says, “Three-two,” mouth hovering over Jun’s cheek. “Does that mean I win?”  
  
Jun uses every bit of his strength to break free from Sho’s hold, and he manages to flip them over. He does a repeat of what Sho did to him earlier, but he keeps his knees locked so Sho can’t pull the same trick.  
  
With one hand, he pins Sho’s wrists above his head. “This means it’s a tie.”  
  
Sho’s breathing hard, no different from Jun, but when Sho shifts under him, Jun feels it. Pressing against the cleft of his ass, insistent. Jun situates himself comfortably on top of Sho, brushing his ass over Sho’s growing erection.  
  
Their eyes meet, and Jun can see no embarrassment there, only lust.  
  
Jun’s hard too, has been from the moment he saw Sho thumb at his bleeding lip.  
  
“So who gets to do what who wants?” Sho asks, voice gravelly, and it reminds Jun of their tryst in the pool days ago.  
  
“Well,” Jun huffs, bending his trunk so his mouth is right in Sho’s breathing space, “what do you want me to do?”  
  
Sho looks up momentarily before locking gazes with him again. “Let me go.”  
  
Jun licks his lips, seeing Sho’s eyes follow his tongue. He shifts, feeling his erection press into the fabric of his shorts uncomfortably. “And then what?”  
  
Sho’s eyes travel down his form, or at least as far as his eyes can go. “Let me touch you.”  
  
The deep rumble of Sho’s voice combined with the desperation in his eyes makes blood rush straight to Jun’s cock, and Jun loosens his grip on Sho’s wrists before he leans down to claim Sho’s mouth.  
  
It’s hotter this time, all wild fire that licks his skin, makes him flush all the more. He parts his lips for Sho’s tongue, writhes when he feels Sho’s hands mapping his back.  
  
He breaks off the kiss noisily. “Get those tapes off.”  
  
Sho laughs, right against his mouth. “I can say the same for you.”  
  
Jun moves off Sho in an irritated huff, offering Sho his hand. “Shower,” he says, lifting his wrist to his mouth to remove the tape clasps and spit the metal in the corner.  
  
Sho accepts and steals another kiss, stepping back when Jun tries to respond. He’s already removing the tapes, eyes glinting with competitiveness.  
  
“I’ll race you there.”  
  
\--  
  
Sho ends up reaching the nearest shower first, the water already running by the time Jun has stripped himself off his sweaty gym clothes. He leaves them in a messy pile along with Sho’s, sliding the shower door open and finding Sho under the warm water.  
  
“Guess that makes it my win, huh?” Sho asks, but Jun only smiles before stepping in Sho’s space. He braces himself on the wall behind Sho, keeping Sho trapped between him and the shower tiles.  
  
“I’ll let you win this one,” Jun acquiesces, smiling when Sho moves to kiss him. Sho peppers kisses all over his face, his mouth still warm despite all the running water. When Sho reaches his neck, Jun tilts his head back to give him more access, turning his face to the side so he doesn’t get water in places he doesn’t want.  
  
He feels Sho’s hands grabbing his hips, pulling him closer. Jun allows the attention, writhing involuntarily when Sho’s fingers roam, touching his sides and moving to his back, down, down, until they reach his ass.  
  
Jun has his eyes shut so the water won’t hit him, but he’s able to find Sho’s mouth and exchange a few more heated kisses as Sho leaves one hand grabbing his ass while the other reaches for his neglected, growing cock.  
  
Sho jerks him off fast, tongue fucking his mouth at the same time, and Jun moans. He doesn’t dare hold back, instead thrusting to meet Sho’s fist, and it doesn’t take long for him to finish, his toes curling.  
  
Jun descends from his high as Sho rains kisses on his neck and shoulders, hands stroking his sides. He can feel Sho’s erection against his thigh and tilts Sho’s head up so he can kiss him.  
  
“Now,” Sho says in between kisses, half-muffled by the sounds of the shower still running, “what do you want me to do?”  
  
Jun leans to whisper what’s on his mind, and he smiles when he feels Sho’s cock twitch against his hip. Just for the fun of it, he licks Sho’s earlobe and whispers slowly this time, “When we’re done showering, I want you to fuck me.”  
  
Sho makes this pained groan, obviously trapped between the pleasures of making out with Jun and the promise of later. Jun laughs against his cheek, hands sliding down his smooth back to cup his ass. They fill his palms and he can’t help his grin, liking every part of Sho’s body so far.  
  
“We can’t get clean like this,” Sho says, but he doesn’t move away.  
  
Jun feels himself getting pushed back, out of the shower spray.  
  
“Let me shower,” Sho says, a finger pointed threateningly. It makes Jun laugh again. “Don’t get in my way.”  
  
Jun slides the door open. “Fine.” He can go to another bathroom, use the tub there, and leave Sho waiting for a long time while nursing an erection. “I’ll go get cleaned up in the tub, soak my aching joints for a while.”  
  
He cackles when he hears Sho’s disgruntled “Matsumoto!” and heads off.  
  
\--  
  
Jun makes Sho wait, but since he’s not so cruel, after he’s thoroughly clean, he works himself open with a slick finger in his hole. He is yet to leave the tub, kneeling inside it with his legs spread, his trunk bent and supported by one arm leaning on the edge. He has his forehead resting on his forearm as he fingers himself, slowly since it’s been a while since he did this.  
  
It takes some time, but Jun is eventually able to take more and more, thighs jerking as it’s becoming easier to plunge his fingers inside him. He imagines Sho, perhaps waiting impatiently for him somewhere, lazily stroking his erection. It sends a thrill down his spine and he shudders, pretending his fingers are a suitable substitute for Sho’s cock. He indulges himself for a few moments, and when he’s loose enough, he leaves the tub and starts drying himself off.  
  
He pads towards Sho’s bedroom without wearing anything, and he smiles when he finds Sho in the middle of the bed, doing exactly what he imagined earlier.  
  
“Was your bath fun?” Sho asks, not without a hint of irritation.  
  
Jun climbs on the bed and situates himself astride Sho, legs on either side. He grabs one of Sho’s hands, guiding it to his ass.  
  
“It was,” he says against Sho’s jaw, hearing Sho moan quietly when he feels how ready Jun is for him. “I made it worth your wait.”  
  
Sho curses, then he nudges Jun with his shoulder. “On your hands and knees, now.”  
  
Jun hasn’t heard Sho use that commanding voice on him before, and he scrambles to get in place. There’s something incredibly hot about Sho ordering him around, using that baritone that makes Jun anticipate and want.  
  
He hears Sho grab a few things from his nightstand, hears him tear open a packet. Soon enough, there are the sounds of Sho slicking his cock and he feels Sho’s hands grab his hips.  
  
The tip brushes against his hole and Jun pushes back, gritting his teeth at the sound of Sho’s laugh.  
  
“Ready?” Sho asks, just to be annoying.  
  
Whatever reply Jun has gets lost in a moan because Sho pushes all the way in. Jun’s thighs are quivering, but Sho presses a hand to the small of his back, rubs in soothing circles as he waits for Jun to adjust.  
  
Jun breathes in lungfuls when he finally manages to relax, and he bucks back. Sho wraps one hand on his arm, pulling him up. Jun straightens his back, groans out loud when it sends Sho deeper into him. He’s bracing himself on the tips of his fingers, and Sho begins moving.  
  
Sho doesn’t go slow, instead fast and hard as if he knows exactly how Jun prefers it. He growls in Jun’s ear and Jun feels one of Sho’s hands close around his neck. Sho doesn’t squeeze, instead using his hold on Jun for leverage, and Jun can only take it, each smack of Sho’s hips against his ass echoing in the room along with his moans.  
  
Sho tangles his fingers in Jun’s necklace and pulls, the thin chain biting into Jun’s skin. Jun hisses out of pain and pleasure, his heartbeat drumming against his ears. Sho fucks him with the same relentless pace, but Jun lets out a breathy whimper of Sho’s name when Sho gets his hand around Jun’s cock.  
  
With Sho stroking Jun in time with his thrusts, Jun fists his hands on the sheets in a desperate attempt to have something to hold onto. His coherency is rapidly disappearing, and all he can think of are strings of filth that his mouth somehow utters without his knowledge.  
  
The hand pumping him grows unforgiving, and Jun nearly sobs as he comes, hissing through his teeth at how good it is. His mind whites out as he collapses on the bed, cheek resting against the cool sheets. He can feel Sho fucking him through his high, dragging his hips back again and again, but since Sho’s repeatedly spewing out profanities now, Jun knows it won’t be long.  
  
Sho finishes with one sharp thrust and a drawn out moan of Jun’s name that Jun wants to hear sometime again. When Sho pulls out, Jun can only lay panting on the mattress, breath still uneven and rushed.  
  
He opens his eyes to Sho’s equally flushed but satisfied face. He rolls over to his back, groaning when his legs feel like they’re rebelling against him as he stretches them.  
  
He hears the click of a lighter and finds Sho lighting a cigarette in jerky, slightly uncoordinated movements. Sho takes a long drag and lets out a thick puff before offering the cigarette to Jun.  
  
Jun takes it, presses it between his lips and welcomes the rush of nicotine.  
  
“Will you stay the night?” Sho asks, breathless and drowsy.  
  
Jun can’t move his limbs, can only lie there sated.  
  
He brings the cigarette to Sho’s lips once more, mesmerized by the way the tip burns bright orange as Sho inhales.  
  
“Of course.”  
  
\--  
  
Sometime in the middle of the night, after Jun has known the feel and taste of Sho’s cock in his mouth for the first time, he asks, “Who’s your primary suspect?”  
  
Sho’s mind is still hazy and floating pleasantly somewhere else, and Jun grins against his hip when he blinks dazedly.  
  
“Take your time,” Jun says, crawling back up beside him.  
  
When Sho’s brain rewires itself at last, he doesn’t look at Jun. “You’re not going to like my answer.”  
  
Jun has a feeling who it is. “It can’t be Nino.”  
  
“Can it?”  
  
Jun clicks his tongue. “It’s not him.” This conversation reminds him of the one he had with Nino, on the morning of the incident in Aiba’s family restaurant. “It can’t be him.”  
  
“Why not?” Sho turns to his side to face him, eyes all serious now. “What if he wanted to put us here so he’d get us out of the picture first before he kills the others? He knows where we are so it’s easier to kill us since he’s got us right where he wants us.”  
  
“It’s not him.” Jun shakes his head fiercely. “It can’t be him.”  
  
“I know how important he is to you—”  
  
“Do you?!” Jun snaps. “If you really know, you’re not going to say such a thing to my face. It’s not Nino. I’m absolutely certain about that.”  
  
Sho sighs. “Just because you picked him up on the streets and gave him a new life doesn’t mean he can’t stab you in the back.”  
  
Jun sits up, anger rearing its ugly head. “What do you know?! You think you know everything, do you?! You think you know all there is about me?! About Nino?!”  
  
Sho moves to sit up too, frowning at Jun now. “Well tell me what is to know then! I don’t know if you’re fucking your secretary or you’re just overly protective when it comes to him!” Sho exhales, shoulders slumping. He runs a hand through his hair, his locks a tangled mess. “I don’t know what to think. Who to suspect, who to trust.”  
  
Jun’s eyes are still in slits, but some of his anger dissipate when he hears Sho’s confusion. It’s oddly comforting to hear that there’s someone who shares his doubt and worries, not just the existence of these conflicting emotions but the gravity of bearing them. “It’s not Nino.” He maintains eye contact, and for a moment he thinks Sho might actually be jealous. “Not when he had to kill his own family member to protect me.”  
  
That seems to astonish Sho, eyes widening. Jun only nods. “No amount of digging and researching is going to give you this piece of history, because it’s not tied to my father. But before this whole thing started, before someone aimed that dart to my neck, someone tried another way first.”  
  
The memories come back now, flood gates opening. “He has a sister, Nino. She married some greedy, power-hungry bastard who took me for ransom. I was nineteen, drugged, and couldn’t fight back. Nino is the only one who knew where to find me; I think he has always known what greed does to people. He found me, and without thinking twice, he shot his brother-in-law right between the eyes.”  
  
Jun looks at Sho now. “I was nothing back then. I was the heir, yes, but with my death, my father could simply declare another heir by marrying one of his mistresses and getting her pregnant. If one of them bore him a son, my loss would have been covered immediately. But Nino saved me, killed off one of his own for me, and remained by my side since.”  
  
He smiles now, small and soft. “It can’t be him.”  
  
Tension seems to leave Sho, who sighs and swings his legs to the side of the bed, giving Jun a view of his back. Jun is still not accustomed to the inked skin, still in awe of its beauty that’s often hidden under thick fabric. He can’t stop himself from reaching out and running his fingertips over Ohno’s design, somehow thinking there ought to be raised skin somewhere and not this flat expanse of smoothness, despite knowing how tattoos work. He runs his fingers over the knobs formed by Sho’s spine, over the legs of the god he had Ohno etch on his back.  
  
“I’m sorry for earlier,” Sho murmurs, too soft that Jun almost didn’t hear it.  
  
Jun shuffles closer, hooking his chin on Sho’s shoulder. He remembers the white hot rage that nearly swallowed him whole.  
  
Jun can’t bring himself to apologize, so he simply drops a kiss to Sho’s neck.  
  
“Any other suspects?” he asks.  
  
A beat. “Everyone else.”  
  
It’s like hearing himself speak in another voice, and Jun closes his eyes, huddles closer for warmth.  
  
\--  
  
There’s one quote from a short story that stuck with Jun. He has read hundreds of stories—they remained as his favored pastime when traveling abroad to see musicals became impossible to do. Naturally, there are also hundreds of quotes that left a great impression on him, but the only one that had him thinking even after years of reading it was from a novella that served as a collection.  
  
He was nineteen when he first read it, fresh from being taken captive and rescued. He couldn’t find sleep that night; betrayal would leave him with scars and a skewed perception of familiar faces. He’d known Nino’s brother-in-law and trusted him at one point.  
  
After he gave up on sleep, he perused his shelf and picked a book he mostly skimmed through, until he read the title of one and kept thinking about it till dawn broke.  
  
It was from Stephen King, and it said that all that you love will be carried away.  
  
It comes back to Jun when Sho’s sound asleep on his stomach, the sheets only rising up to his hips. Jun trails his fingers across Sho’s back, treading lightly so as not to wake him, and he’s following the outline of Raijin’s half-human, half-demon body.  
  
What if it’s true? He has never truly loved anything to be able to tell. He loved his books, his musical records, his suits, his accessories, even that Fuji sakura bonsai Sho sent him. Jun knows how to love _things_ , knows how to care for them and be passionate about them at the same time.  
  
But things are replaceable.  
  
With people, he doesn’t know because he doesn’t _understand_. There is the knowledge on what Nino and Aiba mean to him, that it would be impossible to be without them. What Jun has no idea about is if that feeling can mean something like love.  
  
Because if it’s true, he thinks as he runs his fingers on smooth, tanned flesh, if it’s true then is he bound to lose them all? His touch is as selfish as he is, mapping skin over and over in hopes of remembering them with clarity. There is a god in its demon form on Sho’s back, like his body is a vessel that houses something equally monstrous and magnificent.  
  
Each touch that Jun allows himself feels like tapping into some forbidden power source that he has ensnared and has ensnared him. He shuffles closer so he can slot his face in the junction of Sho’s neck and shoulder and breathes, counts.  
  
One up to three has him mulling the words over and over. All that he loves will soon disappear. Will be taken from him.  
  
Four to nine has him thinking of the first time he bled, the first time someone split his lip open with a knuckle. He was training vigorously (or as vigorous as a young boy of ten could manage), but it wasn’t enough. Get up, they told him, when he’d fallen down and had known the feel of polished oak against his cheek. Get up and fight back.  
  
Ten onwards has him recalling the face of the first man he killed. He took that life. It wasn’t the only one he ended; there were many since then. But that marked the start: his acceptance, the first step to the change he’s still hoping to invoke. He remembers the splatter of blood, how he had to train himself not to blink or flinch at the sound of a gunshot.  
  
Eighteen has his thoughts moving to his dreams, wondering if they’re oracles that only need to be deciphered to make sense. The blood, the faces waiting for him, the soundless words they utter as they pursue him in never-ending corridors and labyrinths constructed by his own mind.  
  
Twenty-three has him thinking of the faces he saw in his dreams. Sho was one of those, that one time, suffocating him and depriving him. Will it end the same way, now that he has Sho so close and under his palms? For how long will this last?  
  
At thirty, sleep is sprouting and taking hold, and Jun shuts his eyes and focuses on breathing steadily, Sho’s now-familiar scent flooding his senses. His fingers continue to skim over skin up to the strands of hair on Sho’s nape. He plays with them, gradually getting drowsier with each brush of soft strands against his fingertips.  
  
If it’s inevitable and will be carried away like what that story said, Jun thinks, then I’ll be safe if I name no one as someone I love.  
  
Let it happen.  
  
If he has no one, they can take no one from him.  
  
\--  
  
The days pass and continue to contribute to the growing boredom in Jun. His business is going well despite his absence, and to him it’s like a slap that he’s not as important in running it as he deemed himself to be. Nino carries on his orders like always, never failing to give him updates. But other than approve and reject operation proposals, there’s not much for Jun to do.  
  
His only consolation is that it’s the same for Sho. He can feel it since he abandoned the guest room in favor of spending his nights on Sho’s bed. The tension, frustration, and rage unreleased—it’s all there whenever Sho’s hands are on him. Jun mirrors it, gives twofold even. He leaves marks, scatters purple all over. Sho, he discovers, bruises easily. There are traces of Jun’s teeth and hands around his wrists, on some parts of his neck and shoulder.  
  
Jun’s only remaining mark rests at the angle of his jaw, red and angry like the god drawn on Sho’s back. He also has some scratches on his back and arms, but they usually fade come morning.  
  
Sho carries Jun’s brand like they’re badges of honor; Jun carries his like they’re the only ones he had.  
  
Now that Jun’s had more than just a taste, he finds it impossible to keep away. Sho’s presence brings forth a myriad of emotions in him—doubt over the depth of Sho’s truthfulness regarding the things he discloses with Jun, the hints of fury at the thought of them hiding in the mountains like cowards, serenity in the early hours of the morning because he is yet to dream in Sho’s bed.  
  
“Jun,” Sho chokes, voice betraying him. Jun likes hearing him that way, relishes at the idea of Sho under his mercy and begging for it.  
  
He has Sho bent over the living room couch and taking it when he settles his hands on Sho’s hips and squeezes, hard enough that he’s sure there will be dark ovals of uneven sizes later. Each push he makes is met with desperation and want that’s almost savage in origin. He hasn’t allowed the use of Sho’s hands, and it’s starting to break Sho’s concentration.  
  
His name is all he can hear, and he lowers his trunk so his necklace can tickle Sho’s nape as they move together. Sho hisses through clenched teeth, shaking and burning with need and lust. He’s as sublime as the tattoo on his back, a thrall to the sensations Jun provides, but just _not enough_.  
  
“Jun,” Sho says again and again, like it’s a litany that can absolve him from all of his wrongdoings. Some people have their prayers with them, phrases they utter in time of great need. In times like this, all Sho seems to have is Jun’s name, a plea that threatens Jun to abandon the last vestiges of control that he’s holding on to.  
  
He noses Sho’s hair and inhales, smells him and Sho and sex and all the promises of relief that are within reach. He grants what Sho’s asking for and reaches down, finds Sho’s cock and strokes in time with each snap of his hips, and Sho lets out this broken whimper that makes Jun’s grip on him tighten.  
  
Like he has no plans of letting Sho go.  
  
The thought terrifies him, but it’s too late: Sho takes Jun with him as he climaxes, and before Jun’s mind completely blanks out, all he can think of is the price of attachment and how much is he willing to pay.  
  
Does he even have enough?  
  
When Jun gets his bearings back, he blinks at the ceiling and stays quiet. When he feels Sho move to grab something to clean themselves with, he doesn’t utter a word. His heart is thundering, like it took the form of the storm god on Sho’s back and vows mayhem on anything it touches. He watches Sho as Sho lazily wipes away the traces of their coupling, keeps watching even when Sho collapses and curls beside him.  
  
“You’re thinking again,” Sho says against his clavicle, and Jun wishes he can deny it. But it’s there, realer than he thought it would be: his selfishness littering Sho’s flesh all over. His arm automatically wraps around Sho’s shoulders, pulling his body closer despite Jun’s mind becoming a minefield of potentially damning revelations.  
  
A finger tips his chin to the side, and Sho’s looking at him with curious eyes. “Tell me,” Sho requests, now tracing the outline of his mouth with fleeting touches.  
  
I’m sinking, Jun wants to say.  
  
I’m sinking and you’re the one dragging me down.  
  
Instead he says, “We can’t just stay here. We can’t hide forever.”  
  
“It’s not forever.” Sho’s trimmed nails lightly scratch at the mark under his lip. “You’re just impatient as always.” He sounds almost fond.  
  
“It’s been almost a month,” Jun says, looking away. “How much longer do we have to stay here?”  
  
Sho’s touch moves under his chin, stroking the growing stubble there. “Do you want to leave that much?”  
  
“I want to know what’s going on.” Jun brings a hand down his cheek and sighs. “I don’t want to be kept in the dark. This silence—” he waves his hand, “—one of these days it’s going to drive me crazy. I don’t know how long am I supposed to last hearing nothing, knowing nothing, doing nothing.”  
  
Sho moves away, and Jun has to make a fist to prevent himself from reaching for him. It’s alarming that his instinct is to immediately chase after the warmth that Sho has in abundance. It terrifies him so much that he can’t voice it out loud; that might make it even more true.  
  
“Did it ever cross your mind that whoever’s trying to kill us might be spending his time looking for us?” Sho asks, his back to Jun as he examines the new bruises he’s sporting. “That coming back to Tokyo will only make his job easier in case that’s what he’s currently doing?”  
  
Jun doesn’t reply to that, instead hides half of his face behind the back of his hand. He had plans on what would happen after his ascension. This wasn’t part of it—Sho wasn’t part of any of it. But now all that he has in mind seems to revolve on Sho and it’s unwanted and frightening; it makes Jun want to take it all back if he could. He’d go back to the time he received the family heirloom around his neck and re-evaluate his decisions. He wouldn’t run, but he’d also be more careful.  
  
Sentiment, his father’s voice echoes in his head. Jun was accused to be full of it and he got better at hiding it from everyone but himself. No amount of denial is going to erase it from him. It’s there and it has grown, taken hold. His eyes flit to Sho’s hipbones and sees patterns that will match his fingers, like puzzle pieces that fit together.  
  
“Jun,” Sho says over his shoulder, and Jun’s gaze moves to his face. Jun hates how he’s gotten used to seeing, touching, kissing that face. “Do you want to leave?”  
  
“Yes,” Jun responds. Maybe it comes with this villa tucked away in the mountains. Perhaps if he leaves this place, all incriminating evidences of his growing weaknesses can be forgotten, can remain hidden like this house.  
  
Sho smiles, small and yet full of things Jun doesn’t understand. Sho scoots closer to him, thumbing at the diamonds sitting at the dip between his collarbones. “Five more days. Give it five more days, then we’ll see.”  
  
Jun shuts his eyes but opens his arms in invitation, allows Sho to drape himself over him.  
  
He’s definitely sinking, embracing the weight so he’ll reach the depths faster. That’s not the scariest thing that comes to mind now.  
  
It’s the fact that he seems to have lost the intention of fighting back.  
  
\--  
  
They don’t last five days.  
  
Just three days later, the mysterious disappearance of Jun’s biggest competitor, Reizei, ends with the man’s dead body turning up in some back alley under the man’s territory. It gave birth to fear and chaos, a grim news delivered to Jun by Nino. Sho’s currently firing orders on the phone, hand waving in the air like he’s in a conference meeting.  
  
Jun does the same, giving orders to Nino on what their next step should be. With everyone in power in a state of panic, Jun must be firm and calm. Despite his disappearance (which is undoubtedly noticed by now), his men must act like they know exactly what they’re doing.  
  
After the phone calls, Jun proposes that they take the car in the garage and leave, go back to the city, to their lives.  
  
“There’s nothing left for us here,” Jun says, eyes narrowing at Sho’s immediate refusal. Sho is still shaking his head. “He’s dead; whoever’s after you and me killed him. He’s dead and everyone thinks they’re next, because some of them think we are dead.”  
  
“Better for us to remain dead in their knowledge,” Sho tells him. “It helps our case.”  
  
“In what way?!” Jun slams his palm down the table, rattling the arrangement of scented candles on top of it. “I don’t have whatever protection and hold you enjoy. If they think I’m gone, they’ll try to take what’s mine. I can’t let that happen.”  
  
“Your men are not that unequipped and inefficient,” Sho snaps. “Unless you left an incompetent man in charge.”  
  
Jun clenches his jaw. “You’re not going to insult my choices in front of me. You’ve insulted me on my nameday and I let that pass. You’re not going to insult me again. How can I lead my men if I’m here hiding with you? Will I become someone they can believe in if all I do here is take calls, answer emails, and fuck you when there’s nothing else to do?” He laughs, sarcastic and biting. “I’ve had enough of this unprecedented vacation. Whatever’s bound to blow is going to go off any moment, and it’s going to happen in the city. I can’t be up here when that happens.”  
  
“Do you want to die that much?!” Sho asks, matching his rage with his own. “If I had known you’d be so hell-bent on suicide, I wouldn’t have offered you a fighting chance.”  
  
Jun scoffs. “A fighting chance? Is that what you call this?” He spreads his arms, gestures around them. “Hiding like cowards is a fighting chance to you? A vacation in the mountains gives us a better chance at survival? Just how idealistic and deluded are you?”  
  
Sho is in his space now, eyes turned to slits. “I’m trying to keep us alive! Because it appears you haven’t noticed, Jun, but there’s someone out there who wants to kill us! Kill you, then me, or the other way around! I’m doing all I can to prevent that!”  
  
“Well maybe you don’t have to!” Jun shouts, anger taking over. “Did it ever occur to you to inform me of what you’re doing? No, because you like keeping things to yourself! Do you think I never noticed?! I’m not as stupid as you think I am!”  
  
“But you want to go back to where you’ll surely die?” Sho sneers, and Jun resists the urge to punch him. “Sounds pretty fucking stupid to me, Matsumoto.”  
  
Jun is seeing red, and he grabs the edges of Sho’s yukata in his fury. “Don’t fucking talk like you know everything about me. You don’t. Just because I let you do things to me doesn’t mean you know all there is about me. You know nothing.”  
  
“I know you’ve gone insane out of boredom, that’s what I know.” Sho shoves him back, points at him with an accusatory finger. “Don’t fuck up what I’m trying to do. Or is that all that you’re capable of doing? Screwing things up and asking others to do the patching for you? Leaving them to deal with the mess you created because you’re too stubborn to actually sit down and think? Is that all you’re good at, making things worse?”  
  
Jun has heard enough. He lunges, swings his arm and feels immense gratification when his knuckles connect with Sho’s jaw. His skin splits, but the pain is worth it when Sho staggers back, lip bleeding. “You think you know everything?” he snarls, seethes. Everything is red. “You think you can control everything?! That’s what you’re used to! Everything going your way, everything the way you imagined it. I’m not going to be your puppet. I’m not going to be your pawn. I’m not your lackey.”  
  
When Sho meets his eyes, Jun shakes his head fiercely, nostrils flaring. “I don’t belong to you.”  
  
Sho wipes the blood trickling down his chin with the back of his hand. He spits and blood stains the floor, a stark contrast to the otherwise unmarred surface.  
  
“Not even once,” Sho says, features resigned, “did I think of it that way.”  
  
Sho spins on his heel and marches away, and Jun screams for his name.  
  
“We’re not done!” Jun hollers, all white hot rage coursing through him. He hates this. He lets out a cry of frustration and kicks the table, sending the candles toppling, their containers shattering when they hit the floor. Shards of glass frame Sho’s blood, creating a firm reminder of Jun losing control.  
  
When Jun hears the garage doors opening and the sounds of tires scraping across the pavement, he runs, wrenching the door open to find the only car in the house speeding away. In a moment of petulance, he grabs the nearest pebble he can reach and hurls it in Sho’s direction along with a curse that echoes past the thick trees.  
  
Fuck him, Jun thinks, kicking the ground. The pain doesn’t register. He’s all alone now, with no means of leaving this dreadful place. It was a poor decision to agree to Nino’s request, let alone take Sho with him.  
  
Sho, who took the car and left for who knows where. The mere thought of it angers Jun so much that once he gets back inside the house, he slams the door so hard before punching the surface of it with the same fist that got acquainted with Sho’s jaw.  
  
The pain that flares makes him crave for more, and Jun continues hitting unforgiving wood until he has no strength left to do so.  
  
\--  
  
It’s perhaps the middle of the night when Jun’s phone rings.  
  
In the height of his fury, he threw things and overturned furniture. Some of the drive left him sometime in the past hour, because now he’s lying on the couch and eyeing his ringing device as it vibrates on the floor.  
  
He didn’t know he’d thrown it there.  
  
He ignores it, but it doesn’t stop ringing. Usually, Nino knows when to give up. Everyone who has his number knows that if he doesn’t answer on three rings, it’s best to leave a message and let him be.  
  
Jun allows it to ring for a few more minutes before he gets off the couch and picks it up. It’s Nino, and Jun takes a deep breath before tapping on the green button to answer.  
  
“Jun-kun?!” comes Nino’s panic-stricken voice. “Jun-kun, are you there?”  
  
“Yes,” Jun says, pressing the phone closer to his ear. “What’s going on? Did something happen?”  
  
“Are you okay?! Please tell me you’re okay.”  
  
“I’m in the house,” Jun answers, looking at the mess he created in the past few hours.  
  
Nino breathes a sigh of relief, palpable despite not seeing his face.  
  
Jun catches sight of Sho’s caking blood on the floor, and it makes his heart stop. “What happened?” he asks, already fearing the answer. Nino won’t ask if he’s all right unless something unexpected occurred just now.  
  
What Nino says next makes Jun feel like he’s lost the ability to think and speak, but not to feel.  
  
“Sakurai-san’s been shot.”  
  
It’s as if there are a thousand tiny blades slicing through his ribcage to reveal his heart, exposing his core and leaving him vulnerable. He feels cold and his knees give out, pieces of glass digging into his skin and cutting him open.  
  
The jarring truth rings in his ears, deafening as it creates a mocking cacophony along with his pounding heart.  
  
 _All that you love will be carried away._


	7. Chapter 7

The succeeding hours pass in a blur. Jun has no idea where he found the strength to order Nino to pick him up. Nino’s automatic answer was no, but Jun reasoned that he’s currently alone in Minakami, and if whoever shot Sho finds out where he is, he’ll probably die tonight.  
  
Aiba and Nino arrive in two hours, and Jun is already waiting in the porch by then. He spent the past hour sending messages to Ohno, who is yet to respond to any of them.  
  
“Is he alive?” Jun asks at the sight of Nino.  
  
Nino shakes his head. “I don’t know.”  
  
“Where is he?” Jun feels responsible, and if Sho dies, it’s another person dying because of him. They almost got Aiba. Did they have to get Sho too?  
  
Another shake of Nino’s head. “I only received one message from Ohno-san, and it’s the same news I delivered to you.”  
  
Jun climbs on to the backseat and keeps his eyes out the window. He allows himself one lingering glance to the villa before they pull away. It’s been his house for nearly a month. Nearly a month and he’s already attached to it, wondering if he’ll ever see it again.  
  
And what about Sho, comes the unwelcome, alarming thought. Will I ever see him again?  
  
Guilt floods through him and he’s grateful that Nino and Aiba give him privacy by rolling the window up. His knuckles have this leftover sting from all the punches he delivered using them, but not even that kind of hurt can compensate for how he feels.  
  
He is restless, nervously tapping his fingers against his thigh. He wishes he has a cigarette; he knows Nino always brings a pack with him, but asking to bum one would require him to lower the privacy window, and he doesn’t want Nino and Aiba to see him shaken. They thankfully didn’t ask what happened—perhaps sensing that Jun has no wishes to talk about it and respecting his choice to keep to himself until they reach the city.  
  
Should they have left the house? Jun doesn’t know. He’s going back to the fray, and it’s the one thing he’s wanted since he began hiding away in the mountains. But the thought doesn’t make him overjoyed or thrilled. It leaves him second-guessing and without a pedestal to depend on for support. It festers in him like leprosy, eating the fraying edges until he’s left with nothing.  
  
Jun doesn’t know what he’s doing anymore. He thought he knew perfectly well what his return to the city would mean, but now he’s sitting in the back of a car and unaware everything else occurring around him. There might be music playing or Aiba and Nino conversing, but he hears nothing except the gnawing, persistent blame that sounds too much like the truth.  
  
This is all his fault. He’s always been emotionally dependent, always a slave to his feelings and what they dictate. Lately, that impulse to listen and follow what they say has led to more bad than good, created more damage that might leave him weakened and scarred.  
  
If Sho is dead...no, he can’t entertain that thought. Jun won’t forgive himself if Sho died and his last memory of Sho is Sho’s blood on the floor, Sho’s lip split because of his fist, and Sho’s choice not to fight back. Sho can’t die; Jun won’t forgive him either if he does.  
  
Sho can’t leave him alone in this. If Sho wants him to survive so badly, then Sho acknowledges the unspoken truth that Jun can’t do it on his own.  
  
He pounds on his temples with the heels of his palms, grinds until he can feel something throb as a reaction. It’s so noisy. His head won’t give him peace. It’s terribly crowded again, smothering him with thoughts, impressions, and—heaven forbid,—visions. It all replays in his head: the intensity in Sho’s eyes as he accepted all the accusations Jun hurled his way, the resigned look on his round face as he denied everything with a single statement.  
  
Jun doesn’t know what apology or remorse feel like; he never gave it. His father got nothing from him despite his rebellious tendencies, disrespect, and utter hatred for the old man’s methods. His arguments with Nino never required him saying he’s sorry; Nino always knew how to maneuver around him.  
  
But there’s something that’s consuming him and it’s not hate; Jun is all too aware how that manifests. He allowed it in during the last few hours he spend in the villa. The desire to destroy something is still present in him, still caused by the idea of Sho leaving him, just...not in the same sense as it was before.  
  
I won’t forgive him, Jun thinks resolutely, cradling his skull as his mind keeps tormenting him about his rashness and stubbornness. If he dies, I won’t forgive him.  
  
Time passes slowly, with the voices inside his head growing louder and more sinister as he entertains them. Jun never feels alone; he has these harmful thoughts of paranoia to haunt him even when he thinks he can find peace. There’s no escaping them; they are a part of him. An indispensable, irreparably flaking part of him that makes him who he is.  
  
There’s no awareness on how long it takes him to realize that the car has stopped moving. He reaches out to lower the privacy window with a shaking hand, and neither Nino nor Aiba look at him.  
  
Seeing that they won’t be the first one to talk, Jun swallows first to get some words out. His throat feels parched and dry, aching like the rest of his insides. “Any word?”  
  
“We’re outside your apartment. I’ve got men posted and snipers in the surrounding buildings. You will be safe; Aiba-shi will stay with you until I find answers.” Nino inclines his head, perhaps in apology. “Ohno-san hasn’t responded to any of my messages. I will have to find out for myself what happened.”  
  
Jun wants to laugh. He finally made it out of Minakami at the price of his sanity, and for what? To end in another safehouse, only that this one is more familiar because it’s his. It should feel like home, but Jun has no concrete concept of such a place. He never truly belonged anywhere.  
  
He doesn’t say a word, which Nino takes as an agreement, no matter how begrudging or reluctant it may seem.  
  
“I will inform you as soon as I have anything,” Nino assures him. Unlike Jun, Nino sounds like he knows what he’s doing. Jun is envious of this indication of Nino’s stability. “I assume they’re keeping quiet regarding his survival because it’s more advantageous to them if everyone thinks he’s dead.”  
  
Nino doesn’t say it, but Jun hears the unspoken ‘if he survived’. He can’t even roll the words on his tongue; it feels like washing his mouth with corrosive acid, burning the soft tissues there and rendering him dysfunctional.  
  
The next time Jun comes to, he’s inside his apartment, and he only realizes it because Aiba is preparing tea for him and it’s the type he likes—Earl Grey. He remains in the couch seeing and registering nothing save for the smell of bergamot, the steam emitted by the cup Aiba presses into his hands.  
  
“We fought,” Jun says, not knowing what made him talk. Maybe it’s the tea. Maybe it’s the sight of Aiba actually making it out alive, another person he could’ve lost but didn’t. Perhaps it’s his unacknowledged wish that Sho turns out like Aiba.  
  
Aiba’s gaze falls to his split knuckles, then he stands. “I should tend to those.”  
  
Jun doesn’t protest, hears Aiba shuffling inside his bathroom for supplies. When Aiba takes the teacup from him and extends his fingers, he doesn’t flinch or twitch away from the momentary pain. Aiba applies antiseptic on each cut, his touches gentle, eyes becoming pools of concentration.  
  
“He didn’t fight back,” he tells Aiba, despite knowing it needs no saying. His face doesn’t bear cuts like his knuckles do. “Not physically. Verbally, yes. Then he took the car and left me alone.”  
  
Aiba opts for band-aids to cover his self-inflicted wounds. He uses a different one depending on the size of the cut, and when he’s done, he moves to Jun’s other hand.  
  
“I shouldn’t have—” is all Jun gets out next, suddenly not knowing how to proceed.  
  
Aiba doesn’t look at him when he asks, “Are you sorry?”  
  
For someone who feels so much, that one remains alien to Jun. “I don’t know.”  
  
Aiba finishes in patching him up, and Sho’s accusation comes back. He always relied on someone else to fix whatever he ruined, didn’t he? Sho was right. He’s only good at fucking things up. Destruction is the one thing he’s incredibly well-versed at. Creation and rebuilding are both foreign concepts to him.  
  
There’s a cup of hot tea handed to him. “Drink,” is all Aiba says, standing to wash and return the supplies he used back to the med kit.  
  
Jun obeys, silently hoping the tea is poisoned so everything ends here. His wish isn’t granted, but the sting he feels as the hot liquid washes down his parched throat will suffice as an adequate compensation. He drinks more despite the smooth muscles of his neck rebelling, until he finishes the tea in three gulps.  
  
His phone, which is on the table in front of him, vibrates, and Jun nearly drops the teacup in his haste to pick it up when he sees Nino’s text.  
  
 _He’s alive,_ the text reads. Then his phone beeps once more with another text. _They patched him up. Bullet got his side, required stitches._  
  
He tries to reply, but his hands are shaking too much. Something is washing over him—relief, elation, gratitude, maybe—, but Jun doesn’t spare the time to ponder on it. He opts to call Nino, and Nino picks up after five or six rings.  
  
“Where is he?” Jun asks, hoping his voice is at least not as unreliable as his fingers. He meets Aiba’s sympathetic eyes across the room, exchanges a nod to confirm things.  
  
“In a clinic managed by a doctor he’s known all his life,” Nino says, “or so Ohno-san tells me. They can’t bring him to a hospital; Ohno-san fears whoever shot him will come back for more, seeing as they didn’t succeed in killing him.”  
  
“They can’t bring him back to his house,” Jun says immediately. “He’s almost been killed there.” He remembers the dart and the sniper bullet. A bullet actually got Sho tonight, just not in the place that would lead to instant death.  
  
“Ohno-san doesn’t know where else to bring him. For all intents and purposes, he’s dead,” Nino informs him, voice steady and calm while Jun’s heart and mind race as if in sync with his consternation. “Took him a while to answer me. I think a part of him didn’t want to inform us.”  
  
Jun can’t fault Ohno for that. Ohno probably hates him now, thinking it’s all because of him that Sho left the one place where he was safe.  
  
Ohno wouldn’t be wrong.  
  
“Is he awake?” Jun asks, and he hopes he’s not imagining things when he hears Nino let out a tiny laugh.  
  
“Why do you think Ohno-san picked up, Jun-kun?” Another breathless, mirthless laugh. “He said Sakurai-san ordered him to do it. I’m on my way to the clinic, as per Sakurai-san’s instructions. Do you have any?”  
  
Jun doesn’t think twice or deliberate on what he’s going to say.  
  
“If he’s stable enough to be moved,” he says, each syllable uttered with conviction to the best of his ability, “bring him here.”  
  
\--  
  
Jun requests Aiba to double-check the security around them, which Aiba does without question. If Nino really thought this through, then the men he put in every station are Jun’s very best. Right now, Jun is confident that his apartment is the most guarded place in the city. No fool is going to make an attempt on him tonight.  
  
Nino doesn’t confirm anything with him, but an hour or so later, Jun receives a quick text that said _on the way back_. It reveals nothing, so Jun doesn’t dare hope. Sho has every right to refuse his offer after what happened, and it’s obvious that Ohno would have reservations in regards to Jun’s proposal, despite not having much choice.  
  
Aiba manages to convince him to change his clothes to something more comfortable. He’s not in his suit, but his cotton trousers have streaks of blood in them thanks to the glass shards he kneeled on. The offer to prepare his bath, he refuses. Aiba is his chauffeur and closest bodyguard, not his housekeeper and babysitter.  
  
He’s changed into a loose pair of silken pajamas when he sees Aiba opening his front door, Nino immediately entering and toeing off his shoes at the genkan.  
  
“He didn’t agree,” Nino says, but Jun catches unfamiliar voices and sees shadows in the corridor, “not immediately. But the drugs kicked in, so he fell asleep, and after that, I only had to convince Ohno-san.”  
  
Something tells Jun that Ohno had to be convinced in ways that Nino will never disclose. He doesn’t pry, instead looks past Nino to see a couple of men—one of which Jun recognizes as Koyama—carefully carrying Sho’s unconscious body inside. Nino steps to the side and leads them to Jun’s bedroom without confirming it with Jun, but it’s not like there’s any other place to put Sho in.  
  
Jun is about to follow, but then Ohno enters the apartment with a quiet “apologies for the intrusion,” uttered as he toes off his shoes.  
  
Ohno is shorter than him, so the man has to look up a little to meet Jun’s eyes. Jun can’t tell what he’s thinking. There seems to be protectiveness and anger there, but there’s also understanding. Jun wonders what Nino did to convince this one.  
  
“It missed his liver,” Ohno says, pertaining to the bullet. “But still went through him, so the stitches took some time to finish. He is restricted from doing anything strenuous and is confined to a liquid diet.” Ohno tilts his head. “May I visit him while he remains here?”  
  
“You may stay,” Jun offers instead. His place is big enough, and Jun knows Ohno is the most suited man to take care of Sho, being the one who knows him the longest. Ohno should stay as long as Sho is here.  
  
Ohno looks around, then past Jun’s shoulders. “I can sleep fine on the couch.”  
  
Jun doesn’t have a guest room on account of never having guests who stay the night, but he has a spacious living room and a pullout couch that can function as a bed.  
  
“Mattsun,” Aiba says, appearing from the kitchen—he seems to be in the middle of preparing Jun’s dinner, if that apron he’s currently wearing should indicate anything. “Nino forgot to tell you, but I’m supposed to remain here too. Nino doesn’t want to leave you alone.”  
  
Jun darts a questioning glance at Ohno, who smiles and faces Aiba before bowing. “I hope you don’t mind sharing the couch with me.”  
  
Aiba smiles, wipes his hands on his apron before offering a hand to Ohno. “Not at all. Nice to meet you, Ohno-san. I’m Aiba Masaki.”  
  
“I know,” Ohno says, shaking Aiba’s hand. “Nino talks about you a lot.”  
  
Jun doesn’t miss the way Ohno said ‘Nino’, like he’s been calling Jun’s right-hand man like that for a long time.  
  
“I’ll have Nino get the spare blankets and futon,” Jun says, and he receives Aiba’s unwavering smile and Ohno’s nod of thanks.  
  
“Mind helping me in the kitchen, Ohno-san? You can prepare something Sakurai-san can eat,” Aiba says with his usual air of friendliness, and the only sign of Ohno’s agreement is the bow he gives Jun as he excuses himself.  
  
Sho’s men have moved out of his apartment while they talked about Ohno’s sleeping arrangements, and Jun enters his bedroom to find Nino typing furiously on his phone, leaning against the closet.  
  
“Anything I need to know?” Jun asks, unable to take his eyes off Sho’s sleeping form lying on the center of the mattress, the sheets rising up to his navel. His breathing is shallow but it’s enough; he’s alive and he’s here, and Jun has seen him again.  
  
Nino waves his hand in dismissal, and Jun only catches it in his periphery. He takes a seat on the edge of the bed, resisting the urge to reach out and feel Sho for himself.  
  
“Just clarifying the rotation of guards in this place.” Nino tucks his phone away and runs a hand through his hair. He looks towards the direction of the door. “You let Ohno-san stay over?”  
  
Jun inclines his head in affirmation. “You can call him however you call him when it’s just the two of you,” he says. “He calls you Nino.”  
  
“Everybody does,” Nino says, and it’s Jun’s confirmation that this is something Nino doesn’t want to talk about. Perhaps Jun is not the only one who found someone in the past month. “Save for that guy on your bed who keeps calling me Ninomiya.”  
  
Jun lets out a small laugh at that. Sho calls Nino like that because he’s a little jealous of Nino’s role in Jun’s life. It’s one of those things staying in that villa taught Jun. “He’s not the most compliant of persons.”  
  
Nino makes his way out, hand already on the doorknob. “That’s a trait he shares with you.”  
  
Jun hears Nino clicking the lock before the door is shut, and he can hear muffled conversation outside.  
  
Jun sighs, and it’s as if something heavy lifts off his shoulders. Half of Sho’s trunk is wrapped in bandages, and instead of a yukata, he’s in scrubs minus the top. Maybe Sho’s doctor friend loaned it to him. Jun wants to press for details, ask how Sho got shot and where, but he’s never felt exhaustion like this. All he wants to do is to collapse beside Sho, feel him breathing under his fingers, perhaps match their respiration together, pretend they have all the time in the world and Sho is just sleeping, like those many nights they spent together in the mountains.  
  
If Jun can have one thing in the world, right now, he’d ask for the ability to freeze time so he can remain in this comfortable bubble protected by the people he trusts. If he can, he’d stay here and not think of leaving, if it means that no one else dies because of him.  
  
He brushes away the strands falling over Sho’s eyes, smiles when Sho’s face scrunches a little as a reaction.  
  
Jun rises from the bed and heads for the door, opening it to the sight of Nino laughing at one of Aiba’s jokes, Ohno also unable to hold off a chuckle of his own.  
  
They all turn to face him, and Jun’s about to open his mouth when Nino holds up a finger in warning.  
  
“Don’t. We can talk about the details tomorrow.” Nino raises an eyebrow at him. “Honestly, Jun-kun, you look like shit. You weren’t the one shot, but anyone would think it’s you. Go back to that room. We’ll bring food when it’s ready.” Nino casts a sideways glance at Aiba. “Assuming what Aiba-shi makes is fit for human consumption, that is.”  
  
“Hey,” Aiba protests, while Ohno just laughs. Aiba looks at Jun and salutes. “It’s going to take a while, Mattsun, sorry about that. But Nino’s right.”  
  
“That I look like shit?” Jun asks, a small smile playing on his lips.  
  
Aiba makes a zipping motion over his mouth, and Jun shakes his head as he laughs before he heads back inside his room.  
  
“Get some rest!” Nino calls out, like he’s reprimanding Jun for thinking of doing otherwise, and Jun doesn’t reply, but he does give Nino a thumbs up over his shoulder before closing the door.  
  
He allows himself a couple of seconds to evaluate his choices, but his body is doing the decision-making for him. Exhaustion is creeping up like phantom fingers touching his insides and leaving each nerve sensitive. He’s so tired his entire body is feeling it, begging him to do as Nino asked.  
  
Jun sits on the bed once more, only that this time he permits himself to be closer to Sho, back touching Sho’s bare arm. Sho is still asleep, head turned sideways in the other direction, and Jun twists on his trunk so he can use one hand to cup Sho’s face and turn it towards him.  
  
He’s so warm under Jun’s shaky, cold touch. Never mind the fact that he nearly died; he surely doesn’t feel like he’s dying now. Jun strokes Sho’s cheek with his thumb, the edges of the stubble forming above his lips a little rough to the touch.  
  
Sho’s mouth twitches, and Jun freezes, but Sho doesn’t open his eyes.  
  
Jun lowers himself so he has his forehead touching Sho’s, Sho’s body heat transferring to him.  
  
“Don’t wake up,” Jun finds himself whispering in the space between them. “Just...not yet. Let me have this. Just this, for a while.”  
  
Let me stay here, he wants to say, but he chalks it up despite Sho not hearing him at all. Let this be mine, something I can keep, something they can’t take away from me.  
  
Something that can’t be carried away, he thinks.  
  
Sho lets out a sigh, like he’s dreaming of something pleasant, and Jun shuts his eyes, contents himself with letting his breaths fall in sync with Sho’s.  
  
Jun allows himself to pretend, for once.  
  
That there’s nothing out there and they’re safe.  
  
\--  
  
Jun grants himself a few naps beside Sho, waking up once in a while to check if Sho’s awake and needs anything. Sho’s not allowed to move much, but Jun intends to restrict any kind of movement at all, save for Sho heading to the toilet on his own.  
  
The fourth time he opens his eyes, he finds Sho watching him, head turned to face him. Sho blinks, and Jun rubs at his eyes to be rid of the sleepiness. It’s still dark and his apartment is quiet, the hum of the air conditioning unit the only thing they can hear.  
  
“I would assume this isn’t a hospital,” Sho mumbles, voice thick and scratchy from disuse.  
  
Jun immediately sits up to reach for the pitcher of water Aiba left on his nightstand along with a bowl of chawan mushi Ohno supposedly made for Sho. He pours water in one glass and moves to help Sho sit up, doesn’t comment on the groan Sho makes.  
  
He offers Sho the glass of water who takes it with a nod of thanks.  
  
“This is my place,” Jun says, to answer what Sho said earlier.  
  
Sho wipes a trail of water that ran down the side of his mouth with the back of his hand, wincing when he makes contact with the cut on his lip. The one Jun put there himself. “I was under the impression I was no longer welcome to be anywhere near you.”  
  
It hits Jun harder than he thought it would. He takes the empty glass and places it back on the nightstand after Sho shakes his head at his wordless offer for more.  
  
“How’s your side?” he asks instead, not wanting to address the feel of his chest constricting at Sho’s statement.  
  
“Can’t feel it,” Sho says, but he hisses when he touches it; apparently it’s still too sensitive. “Can’t feel it unless I touch it.”  
  
Jun sneaks a glance at it, sees that the blood is beginning to soak up the bandages. Ohno had someone purchase bandages earlier, and rolls of it can be found on Jun’s nightstand.  
  
“I think it’s time to change your bandages,” Jun says, reaching out for a fresh roll.  
  
Sho’s eyebrow is quirked when Jun looks at him once more. “Are you offering?”  
  
Jun purses his lips and looks at his hands. “If you’ll let me,” he says quietly.  
  
He hears something close to a laugh escape from Sho, albeit weak. “There’s hardly anything I won’t let you do,” Sho mutters.  
  
“Except go back here,” Jun points out, hands already undoing the clasp that holds the wrappings around Sho’s trunk. He steadies his fingers, not wanting Sho to feel how scared he was and how that fear is yet to leave him.  
  
“But here we are anyway,” Sho says. “You got what you wanted, in the end.”  
  
There’s a break in Sho’s tattoo, created by the bullet going through him. A portion of the god’s leg is now missing, replaced by damaged skin. The hole itself is plugged, but that doesn’t stop it from blood from oozing out little by little.  
  
Jun cleans off the wound first, taking care not to aggravate the injury. It doesn’t bleed as much as it should, so perhaps the one who patched Sho up is used to these kinds of trauma patients. He rolls the fresh bandage around Sho’s waist when he’s done with removing the caked, crusted blood.  
  
“I never wanted you to get shot,” Jun retorts weakly, remembering he is yet to contribute to the conversation they’re having.  
  
Sho takes the clasps from him and locks the edges of the bandages himself. “I never said you did.” Sho peers up at him when he starts gathering the stained wrappings to dispose of. “How are you feeling?”  
  
The question surprises Jun. He’s unharmed; Sho is the one with a bleeding side from a bullet, the origin of which is still unknown. “I’m fine,” he says, unable to hide the confusion in his voice.  
  
“You don’t appear like it. Not to me.”  
  
Jun turns away, suddenly conscious of Sho’s scrutiny. He refuses to believe he is that transparent, that his emotions are all over the place that Sho can read through them, through him, with accuracy. Did he open himself that much? Since when?  
  
He stands and heads for the trash bin, disposing the soaked bandages there. He pointedly doesn’t look at Sho, instead picks up the bowl of chawan mushi Ohno made and hands it to the man on his bed without so much a glance.  
  
“Ohno-san made this for you,” he explains. “He’s right outside with Masaki, because Nino doesn’t want to leave me alone and Ohno-san doesn’t want to leave you alone. I think we have two worriers for right-hand men.”  
  
Sho takes the bowl from him, their fingers brushing. “Jun,” Sho says, and Jun sits on the edge of the bed with his back turned to Sho. “Jun, look at me.”  
  
Jun remembers that saying, that a part of his soul can be revealed if he meets Sho’s eyes. It can leave him exposed, and with Sho knowing exactly where to look, Jun can’t hide a thing from him.  
  
The plea he can hear from Sho’s voice is what makes him turn. “You didn’t know,” Sho tells him, patient and understanding. “You had no idea this would happen.”  
  
“But you did,” Jun mutters, bottom lip trembling. “You did, that’s why you were so against coming back in the first place.” He can’t help looking at Sho’s side. What if it didn’t hit that part of him? What if it pierced something vital? Would they be having this conversation?  
  
“I was against the idea of returning not because I was scared for myself,” Sho says, mixing the chawan mushi with a spoon, his eyes on his hands and their movements. He leaves the other part unsaid, but it’s enough because it doesn’t need saying.  
  
Jun sticks to silence as Sho eats, the clink of the spoon against the bowl the only sound between them. When Sho’s done, Jun takes the bowl from him to bring it to the kitchen sink.  
  
He’s almost out of the door when he hears Sho’s voice calling his name, and he looks over his shoulder.  
  
“Will you come back to bed?” Sho asks. In the darkness, Jun can’t really make out his face.  
  
Jun finds himself nodding. “After I wash this. Go to sleep.” He bites his bottom lip before saying the next words out. “You’re safe here.”  
  
It’s a repeat of that time he dreamt of drowning while he was in Sho’s house. Jun never imagined he’d be able to say the same words, offer the same reassurance to Sho. If he had it his way, it wouldn’t be like this.  
  
But then again, it was because he wanted to have his way that this happened. Guilt is ever present in him, and he wonders how long he can keep ignoring its existence before he breaks down. He can’t be fragile, can’t afford to be brittle, but the effort to keep it together is taking a toll on him. One of these days, he’s certain he’ll crumble.  
  
He can only hope it doesn’t happen in front of Sho.  
  
\--  
  
Sleep is elusive for the rest of the night because thoughts plague Jun like they’re out for blood. If he closes his eyes, he’s afraid he’ll dream and it’ll be about Sho dying in front of him. He’s had too many of those dreams, consisting of people with faces he can recognize lying dead at his feet. Sometimes, he’s the one killing them. When he’s fortunate, the dream is about him ending the life of someone he hates, some figure he used to be terrified of in his youth.  
  
But lately, when he dreams, it’s the face of someone important to him in a pool of their own blood. He’s dreamt of Aiba and Nino before, in different situations but with the same, inevitable outcome. He doesn’t sleep because he doesn’t want the faces to shift to Sho; it’s enough that Sho almost died because of him. The nightmare of it being replayed over and over again is something he wishes he will never see.  
  
So he can only lie there beside Sho in his bed, waiting for himself to be fatigued enough that there’ll be no other choice for him but to sleep. His mind is hyperactive though, full of things he has no desires to hear, but still does because he can’t turn deaf to his own thoughts.  
  
“I had to get gas,” Sho says, successfully cutting him off from his vicious, haunting imaginings.  
  
“What?” Jun turns to him, finds him looking at the ceiling.  
  
Sho simply nods. “The tank was running low on fuel; I had to get gas. I went out of the car to examine the tires when the bullet hit me. I think the only reason they didn’t gun me down is that the people around me panicked. That, or it was deliberate, that they really didn’t want me to die.”  
  
Jun can only listen to him talk, unsure of what else to do.  
  
“But as I was bleeding there, all I could think of was how angry you were at me, how I left you all alone in the house. All I could see was your face, the way you had your fists at your sides. All I kept thinking of as my vision went dark was that you probably never wanted to see me again. And I thought to myself, maybe this was you getting that wish, or maybe this was me getting the proof I wanted that it’s not safe for us to return yet. But I also thought before I closed my eyes, at least—” Sho wets his lips, eyes still fixed on the ceiling, “—at least it wasn’t you.”  
  
There is pride in Sho’s voice, like he’s bragging that he outsmarted whoever was after Jun.  
  
Sho laughs, but it doesn’t sound happy in any way. “That’s stupid, isn’t it? As if a bullet to the side is enough to kill a man. I was panicking, I guess. I haven’t been shot in a long time; I forgot how it felt.” He glances at Jun briefly. “Not recommended, by the way. It hurt like a bitch, and I’m really glad Ogu-san pumped me with enough painkillers that I can’t feel a thing unless I poke it.”  
  
“Ogu-san?” Jun asks, willing his voice not to crack.  
  
“Ah, that’s the guy who patched me up,” Sho says, cracking a smile. “He’s been doing that since I thought of taking back what used to be my dad’s. This isn’t the worst state he’s seen me in, so even if I didn’t see it, he must have thought this one’s just child’s play.”  
  
“I’m sorry,” Jun blurts out, unable to hold it in anymore. He hides his face by looking the other way when Sho faces him. “You were right. It’s not safe for us to go back yet.”  
  
“You said I’m safe here,” Sho says, and Jun feels fingers on his jaw, applying pressure so he’d turn his head in Sho’s direction. “Or were you exaggerating?”  
  
That gets Jun to look at him. “No,” he denies flatly, and he sees Sho grin. Jun gestures to Sho’s mouth his chin. “I’m sorry about the lip.”  
  
“What? Oh.” Sho darts out the tip of his tongue and hisses when it apparently stings just a bit. Sho still manages a quiet chuckle though. “You pack a mean right hook, Matsumoto. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”  
  
Sho is obviously attempting to lighten the mood, downplay whatever grave thing that has happened, perhaps to make Jun feel less guilty and a little better. Jun doesn’t want any of it. He finds that he would actually prefer it if Sho punched him just to get even.  
  
Jun can’t help reaching out anymore, cradling the side of Sho’s face before closing the distance between them. Sho’s mouth is a little dry, lips a little chapped, but he tastes like something Jun thought he’d lost in a moment of heightened fury. Jun just kisses him, tries to tell him the things he can never voice out in the only way he knows how. Sho turns on his side as he responds eagerly, lips parting as soon as Jun tongues at the crevice, and Jun takes care not to touch his injured side as he settles one hand on Sho’s hip, pulling Sho a little closer to him.  
  
Jun has no concept of himself crying, but he can taste salt while Sho brushes their mouths together. He almost lost this. He can’t shake off the thought, the horrifying truth that he has no time left. Time seemed suspended in that house in the mountains, non-existent as he learned to adjust to his new surroundings.  
  
He feels Sho’s thumbs wiping the corners of his eyes and he shakes his head, bottom lip trembling. “Shh,” Sho says, kissing each of his eyelids. “It’s okay.”  
  
“It’s not,” Jun says, hating himself for not being able to stop the shivers. Everything is coming back, the regret and the guilt clawing at his heart. “It’s not. You wouldn’t have left if I didn’t say those things.”  
  
Sho kisses him quiet, brushes his mouth over his cheeks, the tip of his nose, his forehead. “If I didn’t leave, you would have. And they would have gotten you.”  
  
Jun pulls back a little to shake his head fiercely. He’s hearing the same things from the people around him, people who want to protect him. Why? He doesn’t deserve it. They don’t deserve getting hurt for his sake, and he’s tired of people dear to him taking the bullet or the bomb or the poison that’s meant for him. He’s had enough blood on his hands.  
  
Hasn’t it been enough?  
  
“Don’t say that,” Jun tells him, not looking at him but not shying away from his touch. How much longer can he feel this under his fingers? How much time does he have left in Sho’s company? “Don’t. You’re not supposed to say that.”  
  
“What am I supposed to say?” Sho asks, wiping at his tear-streaked cheek.  
  
“I don’t know,” Jun admits. There are so many things going on and he can’t catch up. There’s a murder plot that mostly concerns him, lurking in the corner and waiting for the opportune moment to strike. The people he keeps close to him have already been endangered in various ways, but that’s not going to be enough for the one who wants to kill him.  
  
“Just…” Jun lets out a shaky breath, chest tightening. “Don’t do that again.”  
  
Sho tilts his face for another kiss as soon as he says that, and it’s all blistering heat as Sho’s tongue finds his. Jun believes it’s his tears they’re tasting as they don’t break apart, even when Sho moves on top of him, bodies aligning. Jun reaches up, buries his fingers in Sho’s hair to keep him as close as possible, knowing their time together is limited.  
  
This, Jun thinks bitterly, knowing it’s true, this isn’t going to last.  
  
No matter how many marks he leaves on Sho’s body, no matter how many times he calls Sho’s name—it won’t matter in the end. Jun can never hold on to something long enough. Whatever it is, it’s bound to disappear from him.  
  
But that doesn’t stop him from holding on as tightly as he can, despite knowing it’s futile. He can delude himself into thinking that maybe, maybe this will work this time. Maybe he can have what he wants for as long as he wants it.  
  
Sho’s mouth moves to his jawline and he tilts his head and loses himself in it. He’ll surrender everything if Sho asks. There’s nothing he won’t willingly hand over, assuming Sho still wants him, even if the cracks in his armor are starting to gape that he can no longer hide them.  
  
He’s not whole nor stable, despite his constant projections that he is.  
  
Despite fumbling blindly, Jun somehow manages to open one of the drawers in his nightstand and grab what he needs. He isn’t able to stop himself from writhing under Sho’s mouth, spreading warmth and familiarity, marking and lingering.  
  
Sure, steady fingers begin to open the buttons of his top, and each patch of skin revealed is touched by Sho’s lips. Jun can only lie back and let it happen, relish in the moment. He guides Sho where he wants him, nails scratching Sho’s scalp. When Sho reaches his navel, Jun twitches away from him and tugs on his hair to make him look up.  
  
He tries to say what he needs, but words fall apart in his mouth. Instead he runs his thumbs on Sho’s cheeks, traces his face with the same fingers that hurt him.  
  
Jun wants to take it all back, repair what he’d undone, but he doesn’t know how.  
  
He takes Sho’s hands in his and guides him to what he wants, and Sho kisses him, slow and sweet, to confirm that he understands. With Sho, Jun finds that he doesn’t need to say much. There must be something that happened in that house in the mountains, something that made Sho so attuned to whatever he projects. Maybe Sho found a way to take his walls down, leave Jun completely bare.  
  
Or maybe—and Jun finds this more believable than the other possibility—, maybe he had no walls to begin with, since it might be him who gradually destroyed them while he was in that house with Sho.  
  
Soon he’s naked and arching against Sho’s slick fingers, his needy moans all he can think of vocalizing. When Sho pushes into him at last, Jun feels something close to relief wash over him in waves. He clings to Sho’s shoulders and moves with him at the same time, cherishing the slight burn. He wants it to hurt more than he wants it to feel good, but since this is Sho, the pain eventually transforms to the pleasure Jun has gotten used to.  
  
Sho spreads his legs wider and that sends him deeper, Jun moaning each time Sho slides back in. He needs Sho closer still, wants all of him under his hands, between his thighs. If he holds on as tightly as he can, clings, he might not need to let anything go, can deceive himself that’s possible.  
  
An unspoken, desperate plea plays again and again in his head like a broken record: don’t do that again. Not for me. Don’t leave me. Each time their bodies come together, he wants to say it, scream it until his voice gives out. He cups Sho’s face and finally chokes, “Don’t die on me.” It comes out as an admission, so unlike him, but Jun’s walls are down, and he’s never felt so vulnerable when he thought this was taken from him for good.  
  
“I’m here,” Sho husks, hips not stilling, meeting Jun halfway. A hand grasps Jun’s face and tilts his face so Sho’s looking right at him. “I’m here, Jun. They didn’t get me.”  
  
Yes, Jun thinks, eyes snapping shut since it’s so good and it’s exactly how he wants it. Yes, he repeats in his head. But for how long? How long is this mine?  
  
A sharp thrust makes him gasp, arms going around Sho, hands reaching down to grab his ass, push him closer despite already meeting him thrust for thrust. Jun wants all of it, every bit that he can have in this moment.  
  
This might be the last time.  
  
Sho makes a growl that comes from his throat, and Jun holds his face and kisses his swollen mouth. “Not yet,” he breathes, wanting this to last longer. He needs the ache his muscles will undoubtedly have to remain for days. “Not yet, not yet.”  
  
“I can’t,” Sho rasps, teeth catching his earlobe and pulling, but he doesn’t stop.  
  
Jun groans, spine curving, and he’s _there_ , he needs—  
  
“Touch me,” he begs, feeling himself so close.  
  
Sho does, and a squeeze is what brings Jun to climax, his pleasure lost in a moan as the world seems to fade under a sea of white. Sho shudders on top of him, mouth resting right on his ear as he groans, hips stuttering as he rides it out.  
  
Sho eases himself out and collapses on the spot beside him, and Jun lets his legs fall back on the bed, breath and heart rate frantic in an uneven rhythm. He’s going to ache in all the right places, the haze of orgasm still present in him. He closes his eyes and sinks into the contentment, wanting to preserve the afterglow.  
  
Jun senses movement, and he snaps his eyes open and sees Sho leaving for the bathroom. Sho always moves first, always tending to him after. When Sho returns, Jun sits up, breath hitching at the sight of his bandages soaking up in fresh blood.  
  
“Fuck,” Jun curses, already reaching for the supplies on his nightstand, “you reopened your stitches.”  
  
Sho glances down at his injury before joining him back on the bed, dabbing a washcloth on his stomach and between his thighs. “Worth it,” Sho says with a lazy, satisfied smile.  
  
Jun smacks him lightly on the head. “Turn around.” Sho does, baring his back to him, showing him the god he hides from most people. “Does it hurt?” he asks guiltily as he undoes the clasps and starts unraveling the stained bandages.  
  
“No. I don’t feel anything,” Sho admits, and he laughs when Jun clicks his tongue. “I don’t think I tore my stitches, so you can relax. I think I only aggravated the wound a bit.”  
  
“A bit?” Jun parrots back, already cleaning off the blood with a piece of gauze with antiseptic. He will have to ask Ohno about the antibiotics in the morning. He presses it to Sho’s side firmly to apply pressure for a moment, clicking his tongue as Sho hisses. “This is ‘a bit’ to you?”  
  
Sho looks over his shoulder. “Well I’m not bleeding to death, am I?”  
  
“You could’ve,” Jun snaps, wiping off the crusted blood once the bleeding has stopped. Perhaps he was merely panicking and exaggerating as a result. Sho was right; he didn’t tear any of his stitches, just made his injury bleed. Jun supposes he is partly responsible for that.  
  
He begins wrapping the bandages, careful not to touch Sho’s side too much to avoid leaving trauma. When he’s done, he checks if the bandaging is secure by tugging on it a little.  
  
Satisfied that it is, he drops a kiss to Sho’s shoulder. “Now go back to sleep.”  
  
“Are you going to boss me around while I remain here?” Sho asks, but he does as Jun asked, settling on his side of the bed. Normally Jun would fuss over the sheets, but he’s honestly drained and all he wants is to curl beside Sho.  
  
“It’s my apartment,” Jun reasons. “I can boss whoever I want.”  
  
He quickly throws the used bandages in the trash bin and settles under the covers, unable to stifle his yawn and pleased sigh when his head hits the cool sheets.  
  
“Remind me to ask Ohno-san about what other medications you need,” Jun mumbles, face already half-buried in the pillows.  
  
Sho snorts. “Trust me, he knows what to do. Go to sleep.”  
  
Jun shuffles closer to where Sho is, and when Sho drops a kiss to his hair, he believes he won’t dream, at least not tonight.  
  
His head stays blissfully silent, and he drifts.  
  
\--  
  
Jun wakes up to Ohno and Sho having a conversation outside his room. A quick glance at the digital clock tells him it’s past noon, that he was able to get nearly eight hours of sleep.  
  
He stretches and sighs at his joints popping, then he picks up his discarded pajamas and puts them on. He makes a quick trip to the bathroom to brush his teeth before opening the bedroom door and heading out.  
  
“What part of not doing anything strenuous wasn’t clear to you, Sho-kun?” Ohno is asking, face unamused as Sho nurses a smoothie. Sho’s bandages look freshly replaced. They’re in the kitchen, and Aiba is the one manning the blender, offering Jun a shy smile when Jun meets his eyes.  
  
Jun sighs. Aiba and Ohno definitely heard them.  
  
“You sound like Ogu-san,” Sho retorts, already sipping his smoothie. He’s perched on the kitchen counter, frowning at Ohno.  
  
“And you never listen to him so I know you’re not going to listen to me,” Ohno says. He’s the one cooking right now, calmly mixing ingredients in Jun’s wok.  
  
Jun approaches them while running a hand through his hair, not wanting to look at anyone. He’s not the type to get embarrassed at being overheard while having sex, but he’s not looking forward to Ohno scolding him if ever.  
  
“Fried rice,” Aiba says loudly since the blender’s whirring at a fast speed. He seems to have located Jun’s stock of fresh strawberries in the fridge and found something to do with them. “That’s what Oh-chan is making.”  
  
“Oh-chan?” Jun asks, squeezing himself behind Aiba to find that carton of milk he always drinks after he wakes up. “Did you stay up all night sharing stories?”  
  
“Not as late as you guys did,” Aiba says, then he giggles, not minding at all when Sho throws a look in their direction. “If Nino finds out…”  
  
“Don’t,” Jun snaps, sticking a straw in his milk carton and making his way out of the kitchen. “Don’t you dare tell Nino about it.”  
  
He resolves to wait at the dining table, pulling up a chair while he scrolls through his phone for pressing messages. Most were just updates from Nino, some were reports from his head of security regarding the rotations.  
  
The legs of the nearest chair to him scrapes against the tiles, and Sho plops himself on it. “We need to talk.”  
  
Jun sets his phone down, screen facing the table. He glances behind him and sees Ohno and Aiba still in the kitchen, having a conversation of their own. He looks back at Sho. “It can’t wait until after this late brunch?”  
  
“It can,” Sho says after a moment of consideration, “because what I’m going to propose is up to you entirely.”  
  
That piques Jun’s curiosity, and his eyes narrow in response. The hell it can wait. “All right, talk.”  
  
Sho continues, “They all think I’m dead, all of the other leaders—the young, the old, the men, the women. I had Satoshi-kun whip up a story that I succumbed to my injuries. While they do know you’re back in the city, they don’t know I made it.”  
  
“So what are you saying here?” Jun asks, eyebrows coming together.  
  
“Organize a meeting,” Sho says, eyes alight. “With all the other heads. Maximum security, of course—I can loan some of my men to you for this, no worries—, and allow every head to bring two bodyguards at the most. Figure out who’s the fucker who shot me and tried to kill us both by bringing all the possible targets in one place.”  
  
“You think he’s there? You think he’s one of them?”  
  
“Oh, definitely.” Sho leans back on his chair. “The moment one of them asks regarding my absence, you have your killer. Because as I said—”  
  
“They don’t know you’re alive,” Jun finishes for him. “But what if nobody asks?”  
  
“Well I’m invited either way, so I’m going to show up,” Sho says. “What, you think I’ll miss this one?” He laughs. “I’ll be there, just...not present at the start. Maybe in the middle of it. I can’t resist a grand entrance, not when I’m supposedly out of the picture. They can’t know I survived, or else the target won’t move from me.”  
  
“They could’ve shot you just to get to me,” Jun says. “Ever think of that?”  
  
“And it did get to you, didn’t it?” Sho shakes his head. “If they wanted to taunt you, they succeeded. You’re back. You’re here, and they know. But if you bring the others with you, all these important figures controlling certain parts of the trade and the city...whoever’s trying to murder you will suddenly have too many choices to just singularly focus on you.”  
  
“So they’re the diversion?”  
  
“Something like that.”  
  
Jun ponders on it for a while. “Sounds like a desperate plan to me.”  
  
Sho sighs. “Jun, I’ve been shot. The next bullet might not miss. If that doesn’t call for desperate measures, what else does?” Sho glares at him. “And don’t say you being shot.”  
  
“You got shot because no one was protecting you back then,” Jun points out.  
  
“Still, I’ve been shot, and I’ve got a hole that just narrowly missed my liver and my diaphragm. Either that was calculated or they just have a shit aim. Either way, they won’t stop with me. But we can stop them, if only we can distract them long enough.”  
  
It’s not a bad plan, just...uncharacteristic of Sho. Rash. But doing everything according to his image so far led to him hiding here in Jun’s apartment, so perhaps it’s time for Sho to do something unlike him.  
  
Jun needs someone who can listen to this plan and tell him the holes in it that he can’t see.  
  
He picks up his phone and calls Nino, telling him to come straight away.  
  
\--  
  
Nino listens to the plan without saying anything, shoving spoonfuls of fried rice in his mouth as Jun talks. Sho doesn’t supplement anything, sipping his miso quietly. It’s a strange occurrence to Jun, having four other men sharing his table and eating while he does the talking. Usually when he eats with somebody else, they’re either private dinners or extravagant affairs he really can do without.  
  
“Thoughts?” Jun asks, when he’s done talking and Nino is still not saying anything. His question is directed mostly to Nino, but if Aiba has anything to say, Jun wants to hear it too.  
  
“You thought this all up on your own?” Nino asks, but he gives Sho a sideways glance.  
  
“No,” Jun replies, not opting to elaborate.  
  
“It’s too risky,” Nino says, looking straight at Jun. “Two bodyguards at most? That’s me, Aiba-shi or probably Nagase-kun going with you, but that’s it. We’ll of course have the meeting place surrounded, but if the mastermind is really one of these heads—just as you implied—, there’s no stopping them from shooting you the moment they see an opening.”  
  
“That’s what my security is for,” Jun starts to say, but Nino still looks disapproving.  
  
“We’re talking about eleven leaders here. That’s counting Sakurai-san in. Minus the two of you, we have nine suspects. And I can guarantee that those nine are also suspecting you, since Reizei is dead and Sakurai-san’s reportedly dead, who, by the way, went missing the same time as you did. And he, according to the story, died just as when you came back to the city.” Nino has his tongue against his cheek. “It’s too risky. What’s saying they will agree to meet up with you? They’re all going to think you’re the one who wants to kill them.”  
  
“Not if Satoshi-kun is the one who organizes it under my name,” Sho says, stroking his chin. “I said it’s up to Jun, yes, because if they find out that he’s attending—the primary suspect of my supposed murder—, they’re all going to think there’s a much bigger threat out there.” Sho glances at him. “My apologies if that offended you.”  
  
Jun waves his hand in dismissal and says nothing.  
  
“I don’t like it,” Nino declares, crossing his arms over his chest. “The last time I tried to keep you safe, both of you at that, you found a way to attract danger. Now I’m doing all I can to keep this apartment the safest place for you guys to be, and again you came up with something to mess that up.”  
  
“I can’t keep hiding forever, Nino,” Jun says, jaw set. “I can’t stay cooped up here. My killer knows we’re here. Eventually he’s going to find a way to get in. Maybe a pizza delivery or as a fake plumber, who knows? We have to find him before he finds us.”  
  
Ohno, who’s been picking his nose with his pinky all this time, finally clears his throat. “I think it can work, but only if I talk to Sho-kun’s closest allies first. They want to avenge him. If I say I’m acting on Sho-kun’s orders, they’re in.” This earns Sho’s confident nod. “Unfortunately, that also puts Matsumoto-san in danger.”  
  
“And that’s the part I don’t like,” Nino snaps. “I’m sure you can get them all to come, Ohno-san. But if Jun-kun is going there to be gunned down, I’m not going to let that happen.”  
  
Ohno turns to Jun, and Jun shoots him a questioning look.  
  
“Then,” Ohno says, giving Jun a small bow, “what if Matsumoto-san comes with me to talk to them?”  
  
Sho doesn’t say anything, but Jun can see him hiding a smile behind the back of his hand. Nino, meanwhile, is glaring at Ohno, and Aiba is frowning despite not contributing a single word to the conversation.  
  
“They will kill him!” Nino hollers, slamming his palm down the table. “If you take him with you to meet your closest allies, they will shoot him the moment they see him!”  
  
“They won’t,” Sho says, and Nino turns his glare towards him. “They won’t if they see Satoshi-kun with him. You underestimate Satoshi-kun’s reputation as my right-hand man.”  
  
“If not them, then maybe the guy who’s targeting him all along?” Aiba asks, obviously taking Nino’s side. “Once you start organizing this meeting, you’ll be out in the open, Mattsun. They can kill you anytime.”  
  
Jun knows that, but is there anything else they can do? Nino is repeatedly shaking his head at him, Aiba is pleading with eyes, Ohno is merely waiting for a response, and Sho—  
  
Sho is watching him.  
  
“I have to risk it,” Jun says, closing his eyes when he hears Nino and Aiba’s immediate protests. He holds up a hand to silence their concerns. “I can’t stay hidden. This meeting has to happen if we want to preserve each business and territory. There’s...a much bigger threat than me—” Sho nods at that, “—and all I have to do is make them realize it.”  
  
“Then at least take me with you,” Nino says. “Or Aiba-shi. Don’t...don’t go alone.”  
  
“Is that your lack of faith in Jun or in Satoshi, Ninomiya-san?” Sho asks, smiling a little.  
  
Nino glares at him once more. “I don’t trust anyone, Sakurai-san.”  
  
Sho hums. “Not even when we organize this meeting in a neutral territory?” He smirks when Nino frowns at that. “I failed to mention that. Satoshi-kun is going to talk to each of them in a neutral territory.”  
  
“The port,” Nino says, just as it dawns on Jun.  
  
“Yes, the port. With me ‘dead’,—” Sho makes air quotes to emphasize the term, “—that makes the port a neutral territory since all the heads come to me whenever they need to use it. Since I’m dead, technically, no one owns it. They will think I’m dividing my assets to my allies. You know the rules of port use, yes?”  
  
“No drawing of weapons of any kind,” Nino says, indulging him. Sho forbade the use of weapons since the bloodbath that occurred at one time. Nino still doesn’t lose his scowl, however. “You think they’ll honor that with you dead?”  
  
“I think they will,” Sho says, brimming with confidence. “I’ve made a name for myself, Ninomiya-san. A reputation. Combine the two and they go far.”  
  
Nino turns to Jun. “You’ve decided on this?”  
  
Jun doesn’t know what else they can do. They don’t have time. “I have,” he says, hoping Nino doesn’t read between the lines.  
  
Nino faces Sho. After a few moments of staring each other down, Nino straightens in his seat.  
  
“If Jun-kun dies,” Nino says seriously, “I will kill you.”  
  
“Fair enough.” Sho smiles. “A life for a life.” He looks at Ohno. “Something you can work with, Satoshi-kun?”  
  
Ohno only nods, already standing up. Then he blinks. “I’d get moving but I don’t know how to drive.” Sho smiles at that. “Aiba-chan, would you mind? I think it will placate Nino if I let you see exactly what I’m going to do to make this happen.”  
  
Aiba glances at Jun for permission, and Jun gives it with a nod. “Not at all.”  
  
They leave together, and soon, it’s only the three of them left in Jun’s apartment. Nino is still glaring daggers at Sho, and Sho eventually laughs.  
  
“May I use your bath?” Sho asks Jun. “I won’t bleed to death all over your floor tiles, I promise.”  
  
Jun rolls his eyes. “Go get cleaned already.”  
  
As soon as they hear the bathroom door close, Nino gives Jun this knowing look that unsettles him.  
  
“Out with it,” Jun says, not wishing to prolong this.  
  
“He’s a liability,” Nino tells him, gesturing to the direction of the bathroom. “If everything goes according to plan, you can’t have this relationship with him. You can’t have him around you. You know this. If word goes out that you’re involved together, it can jeopardize the plan. Whoever’s after you already made a move on him.”  
  
“So what are you telling me?” Jun asks, despite knowing exactly what Nino means. “What are you asking me to do this time, Nino?”  
  
“Cut it loose,” Nino says, frank as ever. “Let him go. You can’t be attached to him, Jun-kun, you can’t. Not with all this craziness that’s currently going on. If he’s as smart as he makes me believe, he knows this himself. You either do it first or he’s going to do it to you. You’re both risks to each other as long as there’s someone who wants the both of you dead.”  
  
Jun schools his features to nonchalance, giving Nino an impassive look. Nino is right, of course. Nino is hardly wrong when it comes to these things; it’s why Jun needs him around. But Nino is asking for something he wasn’t planning on addressing so soon. It’s always been there, but Jun was putting it on the back of his mind until the moment comes that he has no choice but to face it.  
  
He needs a smoke. And perhaps a strong drink.  
  
He leaves Nino to find these items, and when he takes the first inhale of nicotine, instead of the cigarette eliciting the comforting effect it usually has on him, he feels like it’s him who’s burning and not the roll of tobacco trapped between his fingers.  
  
Whatever he chooses to do, he’ll end up in ashes.


	8. Chapter 8

The first gift Jun received that he has a concrete recollection of was a train set imported from Germany. It was carved out of the finest wood, painted bright red and shining gold. It came with a platform that even had miniature carved, wooden dolls in various colorful clothes. Some were passengers holding very small papers that looked like tickets. Others were train station employees, handling passenger suitcases. There was even a uniformed driver who manned the train, a string tied to a tiny bell attached to his wooden hand.  
  
The train tracks span several feet, erected on carefully constructed miniature landscape consisting of snowy cliffs and frozen rivers under cobblestone bridges. At night, Jun would flick the switch at the back of the walls of the train platform to turn all the miniature lights on.  
  
He imagined driving a train like that someday, donning the same blue felt uniform the driver had, complete with the cap that went with the whole outfit. He’d think about visiting Germany and finding out if the glaciers under the constructed tunnel were based on a natural phenomenon.  
  
Up to now, he remembers every bit of it. How he indulged himself on late nights after his strict training. Instead of resting and giving his body time to heal, he’d sneak out of his room and sit beside his beloved train set, pretend for a few hours that he was a normal child whose worst problem was the absence of a playmate.  
  
He’d sing nursery rhymes under his breath as he watched the train run, hum songs if they got his lip split and swollen that he couldn’t form words unless he iced it for a few days. He’d wish for the sun to not rise so soon or else the spell would be broken and he’d be back to the boy with no emotions and possesses only dreams of ascension, of being worthy of the family name.  
  
Jun loved that train.  
  
And like all things he loved, it was taken from him.  
  
He was eleven when they began dismantling it. Jun tried to keep it together but in the end couldn’t, begged them not to throw it away with tears in his eyes. It was the first and only time his father hit him, a sharp, stinging backhanded slap. The old man didn’t even remove his ring.  
  
“You’d do well to know the price of attachment as early as now,” the old man said while Jun cradled his reddened, tear-streaked face. “Sentiment will get you nowhere. If nothing holds you, nothing can keep you down. If nothing binds you, nothing can stop you.”  
  
To replace the loss of the gift he cherished, they taught him how to wield guns. What good was a weapons dealer’s son and heir if he didn’t know how to properly carry the source of their income? Straighten your arm, they told him, hitting the underside of his elbow with a stick. Don’t grip it too hard. Keep your eyes open. Don’t flinch. Take a deep breath before pulling the trigger.  
  
Each time he missed any of those guidelines, there was a lash that made him remember better next time. Jun was a fast learner. Once he figured out which ones would get him into trouble and which ones could he get away with, he treated it as a skill and began manipulating his trainers.  
  
Jun never saw the train set again. He didn’t bother to ask what they did with it. He couldn’t ask anyone, anyway. They’d think he was still a child for wondering about such a thing and that would earn him more training hours.  
  
The same ring that he felt against his cheek when he was young adorns his middle finger as he stands beside Ohno, talking to Sho’s allies. Their distrust for him is so palpable Jun can almost taste it. But he holds his head high and says the right words, showing them that there’s more to him than a necklace and a namesake.  
  
When he has met at least three disbelieving people who all changed their minds by the end of the conversation, he twists the ring around his finger. He kept it not out of sentiment, but as a reminder that sometimes, the things other people used to hurt him would end up in his hands.  
  
It’s why Jun welcomed pain out of all the sensations he’s attuned to. Pain is an unpleasant reminder, but a reminder regardless. If he felt it, it counts.  
  
“Six to go,” Ohno says, when they’re on their way back to Jun’s apartment. “I’m sorry for Takahashi-san’s insults. He likes Sho-kun.”  
  
Jun waves off the apology. Takahashi called Sho ‘Sho-chan’. Of course he likes him. “It’s not going to be three at a time always, is it?”  
  
“No.” Ohno’s gaze is fixed outside. “I’m still working on the schedule. I’m sorry if it’s taking a while. But there won’t be another meeting like this, because the remaining six are not Sho-kun’s allies in any way, merely his clients whenever they need to use the port. I still have work to do.”  
  
“Nevertheless, thank you for your hard work.” Ohno deflected some of the insults, defending him whenever necessary. Jun is grateful that it was Ohno with him. They never would have agreed to see him nor gave him their time if it weren’t for Ohno.  
  
The following meetings come two weeks after the first, and three weeks after Jun’s return to Tokyo. Sho has returned to his house in Minato, since it’s common knowledge now that he’s dead and no one will bother to check the house. To make the lie even more believable, Sho held a funeral for himself, laughing all the while as he organized it back when he was still in Jun’s apartment.  
  
The talk of Sho’s assets being divided to the rest of the surviving clan leaders remains the main topic of concern whenever Jun meets a clan head with Ohno. Ohno set up the meetings under the impression of property division, and made them all believe that their questions will be answered if they show up to the round table discussion happening a month from now.  
  
When they finally acquired Shirihara’s agreement, the one Ohno saved for last, Ohno gives him a formal bow.  
  
“My job is done, Matsumoto-san,” Ohno says, handing him the same invitation envelope they’ve been giving as soon as the head they were meeting gave his or her yes.  
  
Jun frowns at it. Shirihara was the last one they had to convince, and convinced him they did. He takes the envelope from Ohno, thinking that he already has one on his desk back at home. “Did we miss someone?”  
  
“Not we. You.” Ohno gives him a small smile. “There’s still the eleventh guest to invite.”  
  
Sho. Who else? Jun snorts and pockets the envelope. Of course Sho would want Jun to pay him a visit. Jun has been heeding Nino’s advice since that late brunch in his apartment, distancing himself from Sho little by little until Sho had to go back to Minato.  
  
Jun hasn’t seen him in nearly a month. And he won’t be seeing him again until next month if he goes to Minato now.  
  
“Is he free?” he asks, despite knowing that Sho’s probably playing the koto or doing ikebana in his newfound freedom. Being dead gives him a lot of rest days, it appears.  
  
“He’s free whenever you are,” Ohno replies. “Would you like to set an appointment?”  
  
Ohno says it with formality, like he hasn’t been so close to Jun lately. Jun admires his professionalism. “Tomorrow night,” Jun decides. “Dinner.”  
  
“I’ll have it arranged,” Ohno confirms. “Any requests to the cook?”  
  
“The croquettes from the last time were good,” Jun says with a smile, which Ohno returns.  
  
Ohno bows once more, this time in farewell. “Tomorrow night then, Matsumoto-san. Take care and have a good night.”  
  
The apartment door shuts behind Ohno, and Jun immediately heads for his stock of liquor and picks up a bottle of whiskey. Foregoing a glass, he uncaps it and tips it straight to his mouth.  
  
He has to do it. He’s been running from it since Nino called him out, putting it aside in favor of more pressing matters. But now that he’s here and there’s only one person left to talk to, he knows it has to be done.  
  
Jun recalls the train set as he tips the bottle once more into his mouth. No amount of love stopped it from disappearing from him. He never found anything quite like it, a toy he’d daydreamed about. Things are replaceable, which makes them easier to love. But the memories of stolen hours of childhood he’d spent sitting by that train model’s side and watching it run across the tracks, those were priceless. He can find another train set, but he will never love it the way he loved the old one.  
  
He doesn’t understand why he remembers this now, of all timings. It ought to mean something, but he’s afraid of finding out what.  
  
Let him go, Nino said. Jun has every intention of doing that tomorrow night. But he’ll be lying if he says that ends there.  
  
Once this is all over, he decides, I’ll get it back. Once this is all behind me, us.  
  
If he sounds like that kid pretending to be a train captain, he doesn’t linger on it.  
  
\--  
  
There are no servants around when Jun arrives in Sho’s ancestral home in Minato. Ohno is the one who welcomes him inside, having asked him to be dropped off to the back gate that’s far from prying eyes.  
  
“You fired all your attendants?” Jun asks when it’s still Ohno who offers him slippers to use. He slips his feet in them and follows as Ohno guides him around.  
  
“Sho-kun asked me to. He said it’s the attendants and housekeepers who are prone to gossip. If word gets out that he’s alive, all our hard work for the past month would be for nothing.”  
  
“But you kept the kitchen staff?” Jun remembers Ohno’s offer of food request from last night.  
  
Ohno laughs. “Sho-kun will never allow himself to starve. It’s only the three of us living here now, though. Me, Sho-kun, and the cook. The rest of the bodyguards and men are scattered around Sho-kun’s territory, in case someone attempts to take it by force.”  
  
They stop at the same room Jun first met Sho in. It strikes him that this is also the room in which he has to follow Nino’s advice to the end. The envelope in his pocket feels heavier for reasons he can’t fathom, but he enters the room as soon as Ohno slides the door open for him.  
  
There are no flowers scattered on the floor, nor is there a koto in the middle of room. He finds a table with dinner already arranged in a presentable manner, and Sho gesturing for him to take a seat with an outstretched hand. He’s wearing a white yukata with gray and black stripes, a black obi wrapped around his waist.  
  
Jun prefers the obi than the bandages that had to be replaced often.  
  
“Eat first or talk first?” Jun asks, assuming the seiza.  
  
“The last time we talked first, it ended with Ninomiya-san promising to murder me if you die,” Sho says, already reaching for his chopsticks. “Let’s try a different approach.”  
  
Jun is a bit hungry, so he has no qualms about Sho’s choice. There’s a platter of shellfish to his right (Sho’s favorite, he discovered back when they were still in that house in the mountains), Jun’s requested croquettes between them, and a flask of sake for each of them. He says his graces, splits his chopsticks, and picks up a bowl of rice to begin eating.  
  
“Satoshi-kun told me it didn’t go as swimmingly as he imagined, but still well considering the circumstances,” Sho says over a mouthful of ark shell.  
  
Jun swallows the piece of croquette he’s chewing before he talks. “What happened to eating first?”  
  
“Do you prefer to eat in silence?” Sho asks, sake cup resting on his smirking lips.  
  
“We can talk about other things in the meantime,” Jun says.  
  
Sho flashes him a sad smile, but before Jun can dwell on it, Sho says, “I miss your bed.”  
  
That gets a laugh out of Jun. “It feels bigger without anyone beside me.” He had to rely on sleeping pills again once Sho returned to Minato.  
  
“I miss the silence too,” Sho tells him, chewing his food slowly. “Tokyo is too noisy sometimes.”  
  
Jun doesn’t want to think about that house in Minakami. He has equally good and bad memories with it, and the last thought he attributed to it was whether he would see it once more.  
  
“It’s noisy because you’re dead,” Jun says instead, not biting. “I think Takahashi knows you’re alive, by the way. He kept giving me strange looks a month ago when we met.”  
  
“He’s hard to shake off, honestly.” Sho sips his sake and murmurs praise for its taste. “They all are, and whenever they get too close to the truth that I’m alive and well, I have to give them a false trail. It’s tiring to be this creative.”  
  
Jun laughs. “Singing yourself some praises now?”  
  
“You can’t deny I’m quite original.” Sho raises his sake cup in toast and Jun imitates it. “Not a lot of people get to experience their own funeral. I had a lot of laughs when I watched the footage of it. Some of them were even crying! Talented fakers, indeed.”  
  
Jun frowns. “You paid people to mourn for you.” He knows because Sho planned it all in his living room.  
  
“But the ones I didn’t pay ended up crying the most,” Sho insists. “Oh, you were there, you’ve seen them. Quite a show, wasn’t it? Frankly, I’m surprised that went well without anyone attacking you.”  
  
Jun inclines his head, sake cup resting on his lips. “You arranged for your funeral to happen when there were only two clan heads left to talk to. Of course they wouldn’t harm me; you ensured it.”  
  
“Out of fear of what Ninomiya-san might do,” Sho says, smiling. “Don’t give yourself too much credit, Matsumoto-kun.”  
  
The change in addressing him shocks him, but he doesn’t permit it to show on his face. He gets this nagging feeling that Sho truly knows what he came for, that it’s not just to hand him an envelope for an event a month from now.  
  
They’re almost done eating, and Jun picks up the last piece of croquette with a steady hand. “I thought you and Nino worked hand-in-hand in making sure I stay alive.”  
  
“Ah, but you were there when he threatened me,” Sho reminds him. “Much as I like playing dead because it feels like a vacation, I have no wishes to actually die.” Sho points to him with his chopsticks. “It will inconvenience me greatly if you die, so try to remain—”  
  
“Unmurdered,” Jun finishes for him, and he can only smile when Sho laughs again.  
  
In a month, he thinks resolutely. In a month I can have this again, when it’s all behind me.  
  
“Yes, try to remain unmurdered even after the grand meeting of all the leaders,” Sho affirms. “If it all goes according to plan and we find the killer, we’re all free to resume our lives. I sure can use a few more years without a murder plot involving me.”  
  
“You got involved because of me,” Jun says before he can help it.  
  
Sho raises an eyebrow. “Because I sent you a fifty-year old bonsai?”  
  
“That, and the first dinner we had,” Jun reminds him. He can remember the dragon embroidered on the back of Sho’s yukata. Back then, he had no idea that underneath a dragon lay a raging storm god. “And the cards.”  
  
Sho lets out a loud, boisterous laugh, one that Jun once called obnoxious and annoying. “I still hate that they tampered with my mail to you. You never got to know what that card says, no?”  
  
Jun shakes his head. Nino had it burned as soon as they found the substance sprayed on it.  
  
“It was my last card to you. I was going to invite you for dinner. Here. I guess I got it in the end. But I knew at that time you would refuse. Still, I had hoped you liked the bonsai too much to agree to spend another night with me.”  
  
“Why? Why ask me to spend some time with you back then? You knew I didn’t trust you.” Jun wasn’t exactly hiding his reservations towards Sho at that time. He doesn’t know when he started losing those doubts, but he remembers where he first felt it.  
  
In that villa hidden in the mountains.  
  
“It’s not every day that someone who hates me can admit they need me,” Sho says. They’re done with dinner, but since there are no attendants, no one comes to clear the dishes. “Despite your misgivings regarding my intentions, back then, you could already admit that I’m relevant as far as your business is concerned. That set you above the rest, I guess. I don’t just ask anyone out to dine with me.”  
  
“Is that supposed to flatter me?”  
  
Sho gives him a brief nod. “It does. I take it it didn’t work?”  
  
“You’re so used to people adoring you and following you around, aren’t you? Young master Sakurai since birth?”  
  
“I had to take what I have now, remember? Not everyone has a villainous, evil auntie.”  
  
Jun chuckles at that. “No, not everyone.”  
  
“Some of us are born to power.” Sho nods towards him. “Some of us had that power stolen. And some of us are the ones trying to take that power for themselves. No different from our mysterious killer.”  
  
Jun reaches inside his suit jacket for the envelope, handing it over. “Not so mysterious in a month from now. Will you attend?”  
  
“As your escort?” Sho asks, accepting the envelope with a smirk.  
  
“As my surprise guest,” Jun says, not wanting to imagine a normal gala night with Sho by his side. He has to focus on things that are more likely to happen. “I’d hate for you to miss this one.”  
  
Sho’s grin broadens. “I’d hate to refuse you, as you ought to know by now.” He inserts the envelope in his obi and stands. “Will you walk with me?”  
  
Jun’s eyebrows knit together at the offer. “Your garden nearly orchestrated your murders.”  
  
Sho shakes his head with a smile. “Not outside. Inside. So we can have someone clean this up and not disturb them.”  
  
Jun has never gotten a tour around this house, so traditional and different from the modern one Sho owns in Minakami. He relents with a nod and stands, allowing Sho to guide them out.  
  
Each room he gets to see more or less looks the same, save for one that has a family altar in it. Jun doesn’t inquire any further, keeping his distance. He’s been careful not to use Sho’s name so casually. He allows Sho to lead him around, showing storage rooms full of books and one containing his beloved, colorful yukatas.  
  
“Anything in particular you want me to wear?” Sho asks, leaning against the doorframe while Jun is still in awe by how well-maintained this particular room is. “Being your honorary guest and all that.”  
  
Jun spots the one he first Sho saw in, a dark blue with ocean waves for its design. He touches it and can’t help grinning at the fine threads forming the rich fabric. “This one, if you don’t mind.”  
  
That seems to surprise Sho. “You’ve already seen me in that.”  
  
“And that’s why I want to see it again,” Jun says, not looking at him. “But you can always wear another, if you don’t feel like going with this one.”  
  
“I guess we’ll find out in a month,” Sho says. “Anything you fancy?”  
  
Jun turns to him, confused. “What?”  
  
“I’ve never seen you wear a yukata before,” Sho says, walking past him in search for something. “I think you’ll look good in them. Not that I hate your suits, but there are times when you have to ditch it for something more traditional.”  
  
A bark of laughter escapes from Jun. “I’m not going to attend a summer festival any time soon. It’s autumn.”  
  
“You’ll never know when you’ll use it,” Sho mutters distractedly, hands making quick work in lifting unopened boxes. He lets out a triumphant noise when he finds one, pulling it out of the stack carefully before presenting it to Jun. “I’ve never worn this. It doesn’t suit me because I’m not as pale as you.”  
  
Jun lifts the lid and finds a garnet-colored yukata with a gold obi. Seeing it reminds him of his train set from Germany. “I can’t accept this.” He pushes the box back, but Sho resists.  
  
“Yes you can,” Sho insists with a patient smile. “Treat it like the bonsai I gave you. Pretend you didn’t know you were going to get it until it’s yours.”  
  
To Jun, all of Sho’s presents for him arrived in the same manner. He never knew it was for him until they were already his. He’s about to refuse, but something in Sho’s eyes makes him stop and reconsider.  
  
“Please,” Sho murmurs.  
  
Jun lets out a breath and takes the box, inclining his head in thanks. He has no idea when he’ll wear it, but perhaps he can put it on on the day he can have Sho by his side again.  
  
“There’s something I have to tell you,” Jun says, unable to keep it to himself anymore.  
  
The same fleeting, sad smile crosses Sho’s face before disappearing as quickly as it came. “I know.”  
  
Jun squares his shoulders and puts the box between them, using it as his anchor. “Nino told me you are a liability.”  
  
“Is that so?”  
  
Jun feigns not to hear him. “A weakness I can’t afford a month from now.”  
  
Sho tilts his head. “He said that as well?”  
  
“No.” Jun’s voice is firm, and he wishes it’s the same for him. He doesn’t like what he’s saying. “I made that decision long ago. And because of that, I agree with Nino.”  
  
Sho sighs, closing his eyes briefly. “I was going to ask you to consider abandoning it all, actually.” He allows himself a sad smile when he looks at Jun. “I thought if this night goes well, maybe I can convince you to leave with me, just as you convinced me to hide away with you.”  
  
“I can’t leave,” Jun says in an instant; his duties and responsibilities are dictating where he’s needed.  
  
“I know. But I still wanted to ask. And right now I just want to know: if we could actually do it, would you consider running away with me?”  
  
The immediate answer that formulates in Jun’s mind is yes. But his beliefs and ambitions make up who he is, and they tie him down to this place. Still, he confirms, “If there’s nothing left for us here?”  
  
Sho nods. “Would you?”  
  
“Yes,” he whispers. It’s a fantasy he can never wallow in. But it’s nice to think about, that had things been different, maybe he’d be in someplace else with Sho, seeing the world with him. Perhaps they can board a train together or live in a luxury one, spend their days visiting one country from another, perhaps the entirety of Europe.  
  
Or maybe they can stay in Minakami, in that house that has a breathtaking view of the mountains, far from civilization; stuck together in a quiet portion of the world that is solely theirs.  
  
It stings to think about, so far-fetched and self-indulgent. He was never meant to have the things he wants. He always had to fight in order to have them, and fight harder in order to keep them.  
  
He has to look away to calm himself, and when he can finally meet Sho in the eyes again, he says the one thing he rehearsed so many times on the way here.  
  
“I’ll see you in a month.”  
  
“Wait,” Sho says, just when he’s about to take a step back. “Before you go, I have something to show you.”  
  
Without waiting for his response, Sho puts his arm between them, hovering awkwardly on top of the box. His other hand rests on the edge of the sleeve of his yukata, and he’s not looking at Jun.  
  
“I had Satoshi-kun write it a few nights ago. It still hurts a bit, but I think the skin isn’t so red anymore that I can show it to you.”  
  
Jun’s eyes grow wide when Sho pulls the sleeve back slowly, revealing dark ink that’s forever etched on the underside of his forearm, close to the white of his wrist. It sits in the center of tanned skin, written in calligraphy, each stroke carefully inked to appear brush-like. Ohno’s handwriting in a mixture of black ink and blood.  
  
Even under the dim lighting, Jun can clearly read his own name, his given name, etched on Sho’s skin.  
  
“He always had a beautiful handwriting,” Sho says, pertaining to Ohno. “And steady hands. It’s been years since he last had to draw something for me. Ah, well, maybe not draw this time.”  
  
He’s rambling, not meeting Jun’s eyes, and Jun reaches out to touch his name written on Sho’s flesh, afraid it might be some cruel trick and will wash away under his fingertips.  
  
It doesn’t. The skin around the kanji is still reddened, perhaps a bit sore when Jun presses, but his name isn’t going anywhere.  
  
It’s permanent.  
  
Jun doesn’t know what to say, so he tilts the box to its side, grasps Sho’s chin and allows himself this one last thing. He captures Sho’s mouth in a soft kiss, attempting to express what he can’t articulate in words. The box between them gives Jun the distance he needs to not lose himself, but for a while he does pretend there’s no promise of death looming over their heads, that they’re normal people with simple needs.  
  
For a moment, Jun permits himself to entertain the imaginary scenario of not needing a legacy or a name for himself. Sho’s hands close over his on the edges of the box, and Jun reluctantly pulls away.  
  
He can taste Sho when he licks his lips.  
  
“I’ll see you in a month,” Sho says, and in his heart, Jun wishes for it to be true.  
  
He takes it as a promise.  
  
\--  
  
The tailor that comes to get his measurements is the same one who made his suit back in his inauguration night. To Jun, it’s like tying loose ends and eventually coming full circle. It’s too soon for him to speak of things in that manner, but with the end of the month approaching, he’s simultaneously anxious and thrilled that this is all coming to an end.  
  
He doesn’t hear anything from Sho. Whatever messages anyone has for him is automatically forwarded to Nino first, for safety precautions. Nino has become his personal spam filter, sifting through his messages and calls and sorts them according to their importance.  
  
To pass the time, Jun acquires a koto and tries playing. He’s nowhere near Sho’s level, but he can produce decent tunes out of it. Aiba enthusiastically helps him read the music sheets despite being mostly unable to, and Jun appreciates the effort and the attempt in distracting him.  
  
Autumn ends and winter comes, and with it, Jun’s sakura bonsai has entered dormancy. Jun notices when he’s about to water it, one day when the tips of his fingers are starting to form calluses from the koto playing and are beginning to hurt. The tree trunk is bare and the jade pot looks bereft, but he sprinkles water on it anyway. The flowers will come and go, come and go, and come and go.  
  
The idea of that cycle gives him hope that he’ll live past the meeting and see the tree in full bloom once more.  
  
The end of the month arrives, and Jun finds himself staring at the mirror as he adjusts his tie, the diamonds on his neck gleaming each time he moves. The venue is the only neutral part of the city, in an expensive yacht that Sho owns. Nino hates the sea, but he boldly claimed he could handle it as long as he wouldn’t feel the boat move.  
  
A knock on the door reminds him of the time, followed by Nino’s voice.  
  
“I’m not that excited to board a yacht, but we don’t want to be late,” Nino calls out.  
  
Jun readjusts his tie one more time and straightens, examines his reflection for a moment. He has to at least look like he knows what he’s doing, what he owns, and what he commands. The last time Jun has seen the majority of the clan heads, it was his nameday.  
  
Like that night, Sakurai Sho will be absent until he deems the time opportune.  
  
Jun heads out with Nino in tow, the car ride with Aiba quiet save for the off-key humming Aiba does. Jun doesn’t recognize the song and thinks it’s a local one from Chiba because of the tune, but he doesn’t inquire and instead keeps his thoughts blank.  
  
This night, like his inauguration, will change his life. He’s not certain how, but there’s no denying it will. What Jun needs—or he thinks he needs—is to know exactly what to say to be able to sift through the perpetrator. Sho’s plan involves the splitting of his property, and greed, more than anything, is what propelled most of the clan leaders to agree to the meeting in the first place. The assets under Sho’s name are profitable, and nearly everyone seeks to expand their territory.  
  
Jun won’t deny it, but had he not known the real plan, he’d still show up because he’d want to bargain for the port. Having the port under his name has always been one of his goals, only pushed aside in favor of finding his killer first. As soon as this is all over, Jun will begin planting seeds to achieve his end.  
  
He boards the yacht after submitting to a security check up, revealing his handheld revolver as the only weapon on his person. The men searching him are Sho’s, because Jun’s are the one standing guard on the port while some act as patrol on the coast.  
  
The yacht is populated by Sho’s men roaming about and performing surveillance, but it’s Ohno who personally welcomes him aboard once he’s cleared along with Aiba and Nino.  
  
“Dinner will be served after the meeting,” Ohno says, leading the way. The meeting will not be held in the balcony out of fear of snipers hiding in the dark, so instead they are led to a conference room of sorts with a massive round table below the deck.  
  
Ohno guides him to his seat, and looking around tells Jun that they’re only waiting for one.  
  
Nino is by his ear in moments, already whispering what he thinks is worthy of Jun’s attention. “Mizuhara is still under security check, or so I’ve heard. When she arrives, the meeting will start.”  
  
Jun merely nods and Nino straightens his back just as Jun accepts an attendant’s offer of wine. He offers the glass to Nino first, whose nose scrunches but tastes it anyway. Jun doesn’t think Sho will poison him, but he has to blend in with the rest.  
  
A tilt of Nino’s head after a minute tells Jun it’s safe, and when he puts the glass on his lips, he catches Ohno’s eye and smile from across the room.  
  
As soon as the wine hits his lips, he stops drinking to stare at the glass for a few moments. He remembers this taste—1983, Sho said back then. Jun never got to know the name, but he’s positive Sho had this particular one served to him tonight.  
  
Out of sentiment, perhaps? Or just an honest offer?  
  
He has no time to ponder because soon Mizuhara enters the room, and with her, the meeting begins.  
  
Ohno spearheads the event but he mainly drops leading statements and lets everyone argue. It’s tedious and boring in Jun’s opinion, but he has to be alert while participating at the same time.  
  
“We can’t continue having this part of the city unmanaged,” someone named Kokubun says. Jun remembers him as a demanding client, wanting his guns to be available as soon as he put in an order. As if that’s possible. “The sooner we decide on who gets what, the sooner we can all leave. All of us here have targets on our backs. What’s saying there’s no bomb somewhere in this yacht?”  
  
“This is a neutral territory,” Takahashi from Jun’s far left snaps. He’s always been one of those extremely loyal to Sho. “Unless you’re suggesting that the late Sakurai-kun’s orders are disrespected—”  
  
“With him and Reizei dead, I trust no one,” Kokubun snarls, and that earns a few nods and encouraging murmurs. “The only reason this place remains a neutral zone is that nobody owns it yet. Tonight will change that. As soon as the next owner of the city’s port and corresponding waters is decided, we all subject to that person’s rules. If he or she decides to open fire on us, we’re all dead.”  
  
“Who put these thoughts about you dying tonight in your head, Kokubun-san?” Jun asks after clearing his throat. All heads turn to him; it’s the first time he spoke tonight outside of greetings. “You’re very adamant about possible murder plots tonight.”  
  
“Maybe you killed them,” an intimidating man called Sakamoto says. “Maybe that’s why you’re so convinced tonight. You thought someone found out you killed Reizei and Sakurai—”  
  
“I didn’t kill them,” Kokubun yells, glaring angrily, but the damage is done. Everyone is giving him suspicious looks now, and Jun can see some of the heads’ personal bodyguards reaching for their weapons. “If I killed them, I won’t be so stupid to board this yacht. Are you out of your goddamn mind, Sakamoto?”  
  
Jun half-listens to them bicker back and forth, careful not to exchange too many glances with Ohno. Sho is somewhere in this yacht, perhaps drinking sake or doing ikebana to pass the time. Most of the work is on Jun now, having to steer the conversation in the right track to find their assassin. Old men screaming and insulting one another is starting to make his head hurt.  
  
“Enough,” Ohno says, acting as a mediator. It takes him a while of saying it, and when Sho’s men finally lift their guns, the room falls silent. “If there is indeed a killer among us or perhaps aboard this boat, that means we do not have time to argue.”  
  
To Jun, that feels like a personal reminder for him. Nino leans closer to him once more, mouth barely moving as he whispers, “Something isn’t right. The boat is moving, but I can’t feel it.”  
  
Nino ends it there, straightening his posture like nothing is amiss.  
  
Jun doesn’t know what to think. He puts his mind back to the ongoing conversation in hopes of picking up trails. So far, this part of Sho’s plan is not working.  
  
“Do you honestly think if there’s a killer among us, we can make them admit to the crime by asking?” Takahashi is saying, shaking his balding head over and over.  
  
“No,” is all Shirihara says from Jun’s right, then he’s standing up and drawing his katana halfway. Everybody in the room stiffens, Jun included. “But we’ve all got suspects and mine is Matsumoto here.”  
  
Shirihara faces him, and so does everyone.  
  
Jun quirks an eyebrow. “Why would I be here if I killed them?”  
  
“You’re Reizei’s competitor, and you only popped up in the city after he was found dead! Maybe you thought you already cleared your name when you began rounding us up with Sakurai’s secretary! ” Kokubun accuses, pointing at him repeatedly. “Maybe the both of you are together in it!”  
  
“Ohno-kun will never betray Sho-chan,” Takahashi immediately claims, standing up as well.  
  
Jun expected this to happen. He steeples his fingers in front of him. “Why would I kill Sakurai Sho without securing the future of his assets?”  
  
“Who knows if you have a contract hidden somewhere?” Shirihara asks, katana still halfway drawn. “Perhaps you’ve gotten Sakurai to sign it before you killed him.”  
  
“I was there at his funeral,” Jun snaps. “Would I show up in the funeral of my victim just to gloat?”  
  
Yamaguchi, who never said a word until now, slams his hands down the table and shakes his head. “I knew his father before him. He may not be like his father in business methods, but their principles remain the same. Killing someone to acquire their possessions is not Matsumoto’s way.”  
  
“You’re right,” Mizuhara agrees, speaking for the first time. She flashes everyone a sweet, youthful smile. “It’s Sakurai’s.”  
  
There’s a momentary silence but it’s enough. The tone of the conversation has abruptly shifted.  
  
“I don’t know where you’ve been, but Sakurai’s dead,” Kokubun half-yells, waving his hands. Jun never liked him. He got overly dramatic most of the time. “As I was saying, maybe it’s the secretary who murdered him!”  
  
“I’m not his secretary,” is all Ohno says, calm as ever. “I manage his accounts and his affairs, but I’m not his secretary.”  
  
“Who gives a shit what you are?” someone asks from the end of the table, and it’s a voice Jun never heard before. He turns and finds one of Inohara’s men with his gun drawn, pointing at Ohno. Nino is already reaching for his revolver, ready to engage. “Did Matsumoto kill him or not?”  
  
Ohno’s eyes narrow but he shakes his head. “No. Matsumoto-san just happened to return in the city at the wrong time.”  
  
“The right time, I’d say,” the man says, and he cocks his gun and points it at Jun instead. “If I shoot you, he’s going to appear.”  
  
Jun remembers his face. It took him a while, but this man has been in his office before, back when Kato was negotiating contract revisions with him. The bodyguard. Jun didn’t pay him any mind then, but he supposes that was the intention.  
  
Everyone is out of their seats and drawing guns, swords, and knives out, save for Jun who remains seated. He can see Aiba and Nino pointing their guns at this stranger, and he exhales slowly.  
  
“Who’s going to appear?” Jun asks, despite having a feeling.  
  
“He won’t let you die,” the man says. He has thin hair and a scar over his right eye, and he’s smiling at Jun like he knows what he’s talking about. “He likes to play the hero, that cousin of mine.”  
  
Cousin? Jun racks his brains for any mention of Sho’s family. As far as Jun knew, after Sho did away with his aunt and secured the title for himself, he kept his family separate from his affairs.  
  
“I didn’t recognize you after what you had them do to your face. Sho-kun didn’t put that scar there,” Ohno says, but now he’s speaking with recognition. “Put the gun down, Yoshio-san.”  
  
“Is he going to wait for a gunshot before he storms in? Very well,” is all Sho’s supposed cousin says. He pulls the trigger, but Inohara’s other bodyguard elbows him in the gut and the bullet pierces the ceiling instead.  
  
It’s chaos that comes next. The gunshot triggers panic and shocked screams, and soon everyone is filing out of the room, leaders being protected by their bodyguards. Jun has Aiba behind him and Nino on his front, the three of them steadily making their way out. Jun has no idea who began to open fire—perhaps this cousin of Sho has accomplices who disguised as bodyguards—but they had to duck because there’s been a trade of gunshots.  
  
The door shuts all of a sudden, and the gunshots stop. When Jun looks around, he’s trapped in the room with Nino, Aiba, Ohno, Sakamoto and one of his men, Kokubun who’s clutching at his bleeding shoulder, two bodyguards whose employment completely eludes Jun, and Mizuhara who’s holding a gun herself.  
  
Along with Inohara’s traitorous bodyguard whose gun is aimed at Jun.  
  
“Why do you want to kill me?” Jun asks, posture straight despite Aiba and Nino protecting him, both standing in front of him. “What did I ever do to you?”  
  
“It’s not you I wanted. I wanted my cousin,” this guy Ohno called Yoshio says.  
  
There’s commotion outside, and Jun sees Ohno throwing a look at the door.  
  
They all hear three knocks, and Ohno shuts his eyes in resignation.  
  
The door opens, and Jun catches different shades of blue in his periphery.  
  
“This wasn’t the deal,” Sho says, sauntering in the room like nobody has any gun drawn out and aiming at someone. He’s wearing the same yukata Jun first saw him in. Sho pointedly ignores the surprised gasps going around him. Behind him, past the doors, Jun can make out men pointing firearms at each other. “The deal was for you not to make noise.”  
  
“You were going to divide your property, cousin,” Yoshio snarls. “That wasn’t the deal either.” He turns to Jun and smirks, menacing and ugly. “Shall I kill him? Or shoot his side like I did with you? I can’t guarantee I’ll miss any vital organs though.”  
  
“Your business is with me,” Sho says sternly, stepping closer. “Leave him out of this. Our deal was you’re not going to attract attention, and I will give you what you want.”  
  
Jun doesn’t understand a thing of what Sho is saying, and he’s certain his confusion is mirrored on Nino’s and Aiba’s faces. Ohno, meanwhile, has this scowl at Yoshio, a pistol aimed at him.  
  
“I want what you have!” Yoshio hollers. He inclines his head and the two other men in the room spring into action, taking Sho by the arms. “How about we renegotiate our deal, cousin? It appears that last week’s talk wasn’t as clear as I thought.” He looks up before smiling back at Sho. “Get everyone off this boat.”  
  
“Most of them jumped overboard already,” Sho says, holding his head high and keeping calm. Jun can only look at him, can only wonder if he knows what he’s doing. “You will let them go?”  
  
“Oh most certainly,” Yoshio says, but when Nino tries to move, he clicks his tongue. “Except for my original target to get to you. Matsumoto, you’re not going anywhere. He’s more likely to give me what I want if you’re in the picture.”  
  
“Is that why you were trying to kill me?” Jun seethes, nostrils flaring. “To get your cousin’s attention?!”  
  
Yoshio laughs, the scar on his eye wrinkling and making it look like someone had bisected his face unevenly. “Precisely. You had his attention, which made things easier for me.” He turns to Sho again, just as everyone he promised to let loose begins leaving the room in haste. “I always knew you had a thing for pretty faces, cousin. I knew it was only a matter of time before you noticed him.”  
  
“He has nothing to do with this,” Sho says, voice eerily calm but eyes hard. “I promised to give you what you wanted. No need to keep him hostage.”  
  
Jun gives Sho this pointed look and shakes his head fiercely. He doesn’t want to leave Sho alone in the hands of his vengeful cousin. Nino already has an arm around his elbow, but he pays it no mind. Jun isn’t exactly sure what’s this business they’re talking about, but he has a feeling it will end in the death of one Sakurai tonight.  
  
“Let him go, Yoshio,” Sho says, not shrugging off the hold on him. He inclines his head at Ohno, and Ohno reluctantly lowers his weapon. “I’ll go with you and we’ll talk. Without weapons, if you like. But only if you keep this between us.”  
  
Yoshio appears to contemplate this, but then he finally relents, lowering his gun. “Well then, let’s have a nice night in your yacht’s balcony as a family reunion.” He smirks at Jun as he begins making his way out. “I’ll appreciate it if you won’t get in my way after this, Matsumoto.”  
  
Jun is tempted to spit at him. “This isn’t over,” he promises, but Yoshio merely laughs.  
  
“High-spirited! No wonder Sho-chan here liked you.” Yoshio gestures for his men to follow him with a tilt of his chin, and when Jun looks behind Sho, past the opened doors, he sees Yoshio nodding to what appears to be his accomplices.  
  
Half of the security in the yacht seems to be on his side, and whoever wasn’t is probably dead or dying somewhere as a result from the shootout that also took place outside the room from the earlier commotion.  
  
One of the men enters the room and takes Ohno’s gun, leading him out. Sho’s being dragged away, but Jun manages to catch his eye.  
  
Sho smiles, sad and apologetic. “I would have wanted to live in that house in the mountains for the rest of my days. Or somewhere else far away, from all this. I would have liked that.”  
  
Nino and Aiba are both holding his arms back, but all Jun wants to do is to pull out his gun and shoot the men dragging Sho away.  
  
He and Sho should have never left that house.  
  
“I also would have wanted to see you in yukata at least once,” Sho says, and he’s almost out of the door. Jun shakes his head repeatedly, feet already moving to follow. They will kill him. After Sho gives what his cousin wants, they will kill him.  
  
This is the second time, Jun thinks angrily, feeling so lost and confused. The second time that Sho is about to vanish from his sight and he can’t do a thing. He tries to get past Nino and Aiba, but both of them are practically hugging him already.  
  
“Jun-kun please,” Nino is begging over and over, shaking his head at him. “There’s nothing we can do.”  
  
“Close your eyes,” Sho tells him, and when Jun refuses, Sho exchanges one glance with Nino and nods.  
  
Jun doesn’t even hear most of Nino’s apology before he feels the butt of Nino’s gun hitting his nape, and the last thing he sees before his vision blacks out is a trail of blue in various shades slipping away from his sight.  
  
\--  
  
In Jun’s dreams, he sees Sho dying in his hands. The scenario is almost always different, but the recurring one is him holding a gun resting right over Sho’s heart, but instead of hesitating, he actually pulls the trigger and watches blood rain around him, staining his clothes, skin, and the floor.  
  
Sometimes, he’s the one who dies in the dreams. He sees the same yukata he last saw Sho in, and the patterns of waves intricately drawn on fabric come to life, drowning him. The waves follow the will of the storm god, being products of his rage, and they swallow Jun whole until his lungs burn.  
  
Each time he wakes up, he’s clutching at his chest and sweating profusely, heart rate accelerating with each ragged breath he takes.  
  
There has been no word on Sho.  
  
The incident at the port sparked mayhem all over the city, but none of the leaders were foolish enough to fight for unclaimed territory when most of them are injured and some of their men are dead. The only word about the yacht is that it sailed past the borders, and without anyone tracking it, nobody knows where it went.  
  
Jun clutches his head in his hands, still shivering, his last dream too real. The waves were upon him, smothering him. He couldn’t breathe, and yet all he could think about was how he kept losing the things he deemed important to him.  
  
It has been two weeks since that night at the yacht. Two weeks, and just a few hours ago, Nino delivered a manila envelope in his home without any explanation what it contains. Jun checked the contents before he went to bed, and the only way he managed to sleep was by popping three sleeping pills in one go.  
  
But even that sleep was restless, because here he is in the middle of his bed, lifting his head slowly and finding the same envelope on his nightstand.  
  
It’s a notice from Sho’s lawyers, confirming the transfer of ownership of certain assets Sho put under his name. Jun has no idea how that happened, because the last time he saw Sho, the man was making a deal of giving everything to his cousin in exchange for letting Jun go.  
  
The only possibility he can think of is Sho finding out who was behind the murder plot before the meeting and making arrangements before the end of that month. From what Jun read in the documents so far, Sho has divided his assets to each of the surviving leaders as compensation for the losses they suffered.  
  
If Jun is on the right track, that means Sho’s cousin got nothing. Sho has gifted all his possessions and split up his territory to whoever he deemed deserves it, and the documents on Jun’s nightstand are merely waiting for Jun’s signature and stamp.  
  
Sho left two of his possessions to him, and one of them is the thing Jun wanted the most even before he put this necklace on.  
  
The port, according to the documents, will become legally his if he affixes his signature on the papers, as well as that house in Minakami. He has a week before the lawyers will pester Nino, and Jun knows that there’s really no point in prolonging things when all that’s left for him to do is to sign the papers.  
  
But doing so feels like accepting Sho is gone (or worse, dead), and Jun can’t live with that.  
  
He has already issued a search party to find the yacht, some of Sho’s allies lending their aid as well. But knowing Sho, Jun knows he won’t be found. If Sho really thought everything through just like Jun suspects, not even his body will be located if he’s dead.  
  
If. It’s the one word Jun clings to lately. He’s physically and mentally incapable of thinking otherwise. Nino, who usually calls him out, remains mum on his judgments and lets him be. Jun is richer now on account of Reizei’s death, and he’s using most of the money to fund a search party.  
  
He runs his hands down his face and rubs his cheeks hard. He has everything he has ever wanted, practically gift-wrapped as a farewell present. In a week, he’s certain his responsibilities will double given the expansion of his territory.  
  
But it’s not the work or the duty itself that gives him a sleepless night.  
  
The days turn into weeks, the weeks into months. No matter how many search parties Jun funds, they all yield the same results. No one knows what happened to the yacht, and it seems that Sho intended for it that way.  
  
Months later, Nino offers to drive him to Minakami instead of sending him straight home.  
  
Jun agrees, only because he hasn’t seen the house since it got transferred to his name. He kept the caretaker Itao-san on the job, but since it’s nearly midnight, Jun doubts he’ll see him there.  
  
Nino doesn’t touch on the topic of Sho or Ohno or whatever happened to them, instead informs Jun that Aiba is taking an extended leave and is staying in Chiba because he’s now an uncle. Jun smiles at the news but says nothing, choosing to listen to Nino distract him with stories.  
  
The house is dark when they finally get there, and Jun only stares at its looming silhouette for a couple of moments before heading to open the doors. He turns on all the lights as he enters the place, finding everything to be the same despite the state of shambles he left it in the last time he was here.  
  
“Take your time,” Nino says, when Jun hesitates on ascending the stairs. “I’ll go have a look around.”  
  
Nino leaves him alone, but Jun makes sure Nino is out of sight before he slowly starts climbing the steps. Everywhere he looks reminds him of the time he spent with Sho in here and it stings. He pointedly doesn’t glance at the direction of the master’s bedroom once he reaches the top, and instead makes his way to the one room Sho forbade him to enter.  
  
A part of Jun feels he’s intruding into Sho’s privacy for what he’s about to do, but Sho wouldn’t have left the house to him if he didn’t want this to be found out.  
  
Jun hesitates for a fraction of a second, then he pushes the door open and flicks the light switch.  
  
It’s a room of the same design as the guest rooms minus the bed. The walls are entirely covered in posters of various artists. X JAPAN, TRF, and one more Jun doesn’t recognize. There’s a soccer ball sitting close to Jun’s feet, and he ends up kicking it when he takes a step forward. It rolls away and stops at the base of a tall shelf filled with CDs, dusty and unplayed for years. Jun can spot a set of jars on top of the shelf but he refuses to touch anything, so he continues looking around.  
  
There are piano score sheets scattered in one corner, and Jun catches Chopin’s name in one. Sho has never played the piano when they stayed here, and Jun reaches out and touches the paper’s surface, wondering what it would be like to hear Sho play.  
  
He sinks to his knees before he can help it, burying his face in his hands.  
  
Hours away from Tokyo, in the house full of his best memories with Sho, inside a room that contains Sho’s dearest possessions dating from back when he was young, Jun finally, reluctantly accepts the truth.  
  
Sho is gone.  
  
\--  
  
Jun moves onward along with the rest of the world. He maintains Sho’s original rule of no weapons drawn during port use and keeps the price of each use as reasonable as possible. Sho’s allies have automatically become his, and out of the ten surviving leaders, Jun considers seven of them to be on his side. It took him some time, but he’s finally in a position of power.  
  
None of his newfound allies know what truly happened in the yacht and the story Jun went with is the truth. He got knocked out before seeing something substantial. He got away, and he knows nothing. The search was fruitless and was ceased to redirect the funds to something more worthwhile.  
  
As the seasons pass, the tiny tree on Jun’s desk begins showing signs of life. He watches its growth and dormancy go hand-in-hand, always waiting for the day it’ll bloom fully once more. It’s something to look forward to despite his busy schedule.  
  
Jun never goes back to visit the house in Minakami, but stays updated regarding its status. He cuts ties with anything that’s reminding him of what once was, disposes of the horrible reminders of the attempts on his life.  
  
He keeps the yukata Sho gave him hidden in his closet, untouched and unopened in its fancy box. He sticks to his suits and to what he’s born to do, gradually implementing change while forming respectable relationship with his peers, even if some of them are twice his age.  
  
His survival of the incident earned him respect, and now he’s technically one of the richest leaders running his part of the city. Sho also divided his men to his allies, with Jun getting the most of them under his employment. The additional manpower meant additional income and security, and while there are still a couple of assassination attempts appearing in the corner, none of them got so close to Jun as the one that involved Sho.  
  
On most days, Jun is able to focus so fully in his tasks that he’s able to not spare Sho a single thought. The months continue to pass and he has long given up. Rechanneling his attention elsewhere was no problem considering how troublesome it is to have the port back under his family name.  
  
His nights are different. He sometimes chooses to spend it in the company of another just to forget, and more often than not, it works for him. He exhausts himself mentally and physically so his emotions won’t resurface, and on a good night he congratulates himself for holding out this far, for bottling his emotions until he can delude himself they don’t exist.  
  
He thinks his father would have been proud.  
  
Days become weeks and turn into months, and eventually into years.  
  
Jun does himself a favor and doesn’t look back.


	9. Chapter 9

Meetings had become an integral part of his life.  
  
There was always someone important, someone crucial he had to speak to in order to lay out one plan after another, to place a piece that would serve as a foundation towards an improvement, to something better, greater.  
  
This was his last meeting for the day, or so Nino had told him. His face was still cool after the quick trip to the washroom, and he massaged his cheeks a little in hopes of turning on his switch for one last time before finally heading out to deal with the final appointment that had been scheduled.  
  
There was a forecast of a thunderstorm tonight, and the sooner he could conclude his day, the sooner he could get home. Rain was acceptable if he was indoors and could admire the view of lightning piercing the sky by his apartment window. The sight of it was magnificent, and watching storms unfold, despite the disorder they brought, somehow gave him peace. In his rare moments of what perhaps could constitute as madness, he began to anticipate that entropy could bring him serenity.  
  
His visitor was admiring the view that stretched far and wide, as far as the sea touching the horizon. The coast was full of ongoing deliveries he had approved of weeks ago, buzzing with activity and business transactions. The sun was close to setting, but it bathed everything in his penthouse suite in a sea of orange, each bright ray hitting the form of his guest and obscuring most of the view from him.  
  
“Armani, as always,” a deep voice came, the tone hinting at a smile. He froze in his tracks, stomach dropping at the immediate realization.  
  
He didn’t want to believe it. But his guest spoke once more, using that baritone he hadn’t heard in years.  
  
“I always thought you looked pristine in those fancy suits of yours, but perhaps seeing it in person after all this time is something I can never account for.”  
  
A million things wanted to burst forth from his mouth, one question after another. Yet he couldn’t wrap his head around them to articulate any, and all he managed in the end was a disbelieving, accusatory, breathy “You—” that got caught in his throat.  
  
His heart felt like it wanted to break free from its confines. It might be the sun blanketing them and the entire penthouse suite in a warm glow, but he felt like a burning star standing in the middle of an endless void, powerless to do anything.  
  
A beat, then his visitor finally turned to face him, and one look on the man’s face made the entirety of three long years vanish, collapsing into nothingness.  
  
Jun was inevitably drawn to everything he was allowed to look at: Sho’s face, his tiny smile, the white yukata he was wearing appearing orange under the sun. They stood too far from each other, but Jun couldn’t move even if he wanted to. He was rooted to where he was, trapped in a moment of utter shock and disbelief combined.  
  
“Hello Jun,” Sho greeted, remaining where he stood. “It’s been a while.”  
  
Jun’s breaths came rushed and hard, and he felt stuffed in his suit. He closed his eyes briefly, wondering if this was all a dream, an apparition, or a gratuitous hallucination. If it was, he’d want nothing to remember this day by. Perhaps he’d gone mad with the longing he’d tried so hard to suppress and ignore.  
  
“Look at me,” Sho said, voice soft but audible since they were alone.  
  
Jun didn’t, but he snapped his eyes open, keeping his gaze above Sho’s head, past the windows.  
  
“It’s been what, two, three years?” Sho asked, the light from outside obscuring half of his face. Jun wished he’d see more, but he didn’t know if he could take it after all this time. “Look at me.”  
  
“I know how you look like,” Jun managed to say, wanting to squeeze his eyes shut together. Why now? Why after all those years of silence? If this was a trick conjured by his mind, he wondered how his thoughts could run so cruel.  
  
“And I know how you do, too, but I haven’t seen you in so long,” Sho said patiently.  
  
Jun met his eyes across the room, and when Sho began approaching him, Jun’s first instinct was to step back. But he couldn’t get his feet to move and obey him, so he remained frozen in place, taking in Sho’s appearance. Sho’s hair was black now, strands falling over his eyes. It had been a darker shade of brown the last time Jun had seen him. He got a few wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, but they still creased when Sho smiled. He had the same smile, full lips turning up to reveal teeth, and Jun loathed every second of seeing it.  
  
Sho stopped walking when he was a few paces from Jun, maintaining a respectable distance, but he was close enough that Jun was able to catch a whiff of his scent.  
  
It hadn’t changed. Nothing about him seemed to have.  
  
“Why now?” Jun asked, when it was clear that Sho was merely contented with looking at him. It hurt more than he’d imagined. When he had been delusional and foolish, he’d thought of how Sho would come back to him, allowed himself to be lost in a fantasy. If Sho had changed, it would have been easier to let him go, since he’d practically be a stranger.  
  
But he wasn’t, not with the way he was looking at Jun, not even with the change in hair color and the evidence of age on his face. He was how Jun had remembered him, and Jun wished he’d wake up if this was a heartless joke.  
  
“You’ve been alive all this time and not a word?”  
  
“They were watching you,” Sho pointed out, waving his hand to gesture behind him, past the windows.  
  
“And?” Jun couldn’t keep the hurt from his voice and he hated it. He had never felt so vulnerable, not since Sho disappeared and never came back. “Since when did that stop you?”  
  
“Since I had to die so you wouldn’t,” Sho answered calmly. “Or at least, appear dead.”  
  
Jun walked past Sho to get to his chair. He needed something between them, something solid like his desk. He wouldn’t get the truths he wanted if Sho was standing so close.  
  
Sho didn’t wait for an invitation; he approached the chair across Jun’s desk and sat on it like he was a normal client and this was a normal conversation they would be having.  
  
“Is it safe for you to come back now?” was what Jun settled for, keeping his tone businesslike.  
  
Sho tilted his head to the side. “It’s been safe for me to come back for a long time.”  
  
Hearing that made it worse. Jun schooled his features to impassiveness and cast a bored look in Sho’s way, mustering as much disinterest as he could. “So why now? Why now, after all those years? I tried—I had men who tried to find you.”  
  
“You had, at first,” Sho acknowledged. “Do you want to know what happened on the yacht that night, Jun?”  
  
“Don’t say my name,” Jun snapped icily. Sho had said it like nothing had changed, like he was bypassing all those years Jun had spent trying to patch himself up. If Sho wouldn’t call him by his name, Jun could keep his distance, could stay detached.  
  
If Sho was hurt, he didn’t show it. “Matsumoto-san,” he amended. “My apologies. Old habits die hard.”  
  
“What happened that night?” Jun asked, steering the conversation elsewhere.  
  
Sho blinked, gaze dropping to the bonsai sitting on his far left. He didn’t comment on it. “Two or three weeks before the meeting took place, Satoshi-kun finally found him. My cousin. He was lurking around Minato because he didn’t believe I died. I asked Satoshi-kun to bring him to me so we could negotiate.”  
  
“And you couldn’t have told me?” Jun thought they were in the plan together. Was he so wrong to have believed that?  
  
“He would have tried to kill you if you knew,” Sho said. “I promised him everything under my name if he would lie low since it was too late to cancel the gathering taking place by the end of that month. He didn’t listen, as you witnessed.”  
  
“You made the arrangements even before we all boarded that yacht,” Jun concluded. “You divided your assets and properties already.” He’d thought right.  
  
“I couldn’t let him have everything,” Sho reasoned.  
  
“But you let him go anyway.”  
  
“He was working for Inohara, who knew nothing about his motives. You knew I had certain members of my family scattered in different clans so I could monitor them minimally. I had to let him go so as not to alert anyone that I was alive.”  
  
Jun snorted. “Should’ve known you’d hate to be slandered despite you tricking everyone about your death.” Including me, he didn’t add.  
  
Sho frowned at him, looking absolutely confused and bewildered. “Ju—Matsumoto-san, you made the gathering possible because I appeared dead. It wasn’t my slander I was preventing. I thought that part would at least be clear to you.”  
  
“How can it?” Jun seethed, eyes narrowing. “I didn’t know a damn thing when I got on that boat! How was I supposed to know what you were doing?”  
  
“You weren’t,” Sho replied, still in that infuriatingly calm tone that Jun didn’t want to hear anymore. “I had to go and I couldn’t let you know.”  
  
“Why? Because you were afraid I wouldn’t understand?”  
  
Sho smiled sadly and shook his head once. “I was trying to keep you safe. The less you knew, the better. Besides, you ceased your involvement with me a month before that gathering. Or do you not remember?”  
  
Jun was fuming. “Don’t you dare pin this on me. I did what I had to do at that time. I had every intention of…” He trailed off, not wanting to admit it. He had wanted to pick up whatever he had with Sho. He took a deep breath before speaking again. “What happened after?”  
  
“My cousin died,” Sho explained. “It was a struggle until the end. He realized I had no plans of giving him anything, but we were already too far from the city. He tried to shoot his way out, but he was outnumbered. No matter how many men he’d thought he’d converted to his side, that yacht was mine.”  
  
Jun wondered if Sho had sustained any injuries from that time. There were no evident marks on his skin that wasn’t hidden by his yukata. Would Jun be able to tell? It had been years ago.  
  
“And you chose to disappear just like that instead of coming back to see what you left us with?”  
  
“I left you a house as a souvenir and I gave you the port,” Sho pointed out. “I handed to you the biggest source of income in this city, the one thing I knew you wanted from me.”  
  
The one thing he wanted? Jun saw red. “I never wanted those gifts!” Jun shot back. “I didn’t want any of them at that time!”  
  
Sho looked taken aback. “Then what did you want?! What else could you have wanted?” Sho was shaking his head now. “I gave you everything. Everything you wanted—respect, power, money, the port back in your family’s control. I stayed dead for years so I wouldn’t soil your name, affect your affairs. What more did you want?”  
  
“You knew exactly what I wanted,” Jun murmured, voice betraying him. His chest felt constricted. “You said it yourself.”  
  
 _I would have wanted to live in that house in the mountains for the rest of my days. Or somewhere else far away, from all this._  
  
Sho drew back a little as he seemed to remember.  
  
“Why did you come back?” Jun asked shakily, hating himself for being so open and so out of control. “Why are you back?”  
  
“I wanted to see how you were doing,” Sho admitted quietly.  
  
“You said they were all watching me when I asked you why you kept mum about surviving. There were eyes on me and you knew. You knew how I was doing because you were watching me too.”  
  
“I wanted to see you up close,” Sho clarified. “I haven’t been able to do that for so long.”  
  
“You’re late,” was all Jun could say.  
  
A sad, resigned smile crossed Sho’s face. “I guess I simply wanted to hear that for myself.” He exhaled, then squared his shoulders. “Thank you for your time today, Matsumoto-san.” He gave a little bow, his voice all formal and composed. “I can promise that this will be the last time you’d have to entertain me. My sincerest apologies for the inconvenience I may have caused you.”  
  
Sho stood and stepped aside to push the chair he used back into its original place, like nothing had disturbed it. He looked at his surroundings, like he was checking for something.  
  
Jun realized this was Sho removing traces of his appearance. Erasing his presence, like he was never here. Was he going to vanish for good? With a proper goodbye this time?  
  
Could Jun forgive himself if he let that happen again?  
  
“Are you leaving?” Jun asked. He had to know this time.  
  
Sho was looking at the tree on Jun’s right. “Yes. There’s no place for me here. I have nothing. I am nothing. I no longer belong in your world.” Sho smiled. “It was nice seeing you, to have met you again. I mean that. I hope you have a good night, Matsumoto-san.”  
  
Sho moved to leave, and Jun was struck with how many times he saw Sho do that. Once, when there had been blood on his knuckles and his rage had felt like fire coursing through him. Twice, when Sho had bargained for his safety and left him to deal with everything Sho had put under his name.  
  
If Sho walked out that door, Jun knew he would never see him again.  
  
“Three hours,” Jun blurted out.  
  
Sho halted in his steps and turned to him with a questioning look.  
  
“Three hours,” Jun repeated, remembering that night he’d asked Sho to hide with him. Would Sho remember it as well? “Give me three hours.”  
  
Sho’s eyebrows were knitted, but his eyes eventually cleared. “Where?” he asked, uncertain.  
  
“I live in the same place,” Jun said, keeping his voice steady now. For several moments, there was nothing but silence between them.  
  
Sho finally smiled, small but hopeful.  
  
“Don’t be late.”  
  
\--  
  
Jun arrived at his apartment with all the lights off except for the ones in the genkan, and he found Sho sitting at the step. He could’ve invited himself inside, but he had chosen otherwise.  
  
“Ninomiya-san gave me a key on my way out,” Sho explained, holding out his palm. “He said I should return it to you.”  
  
Jun took the key, careful not to brush their fingers. He toed off his shoes, offered Sho a pair of slippers to use without uttering a word, and he strode inside his place without checking if Sho followed him. He shrugged off his suit jacket and draped it over a chair, rolling his sleeves up to his elbows.  
  
“What would it be?” Jun asked, keeping his back turned to Sho as he perused his bottles of liquor.  
  
“Anything would do,” Sho answered.  
  
Jun picked up the bottle of whiskey and started pouring in two glasses, focusing on the task to stop his thoughts. He’d invited Sho. And for what?  
  
You know exactly what, he told himself. He picked up both glasses and turned around, breath stilling when he found himself face to face with Sho, who stood so close. He nearly dropped the glasses, but Sho was watching out for them and had his hands supporting the base of each.  
  
Sho gently pried the glasses from his trembling hands and put them back on the counter.  
  
When Sho spoke next, he was whispering. “I have nothing except for a name that isn’t even mine.” He waved his arm slightly, and Jun remembered what was hidden underneath that sleeve.  
  
Was it still there?  
  
Jun stepped closer, breathing in Sho’s space. “Do you know what you’re doing?”  
  
“Do you?” Sho asked back.  
  
There was nothing between them anymore, just the walls Jun had erected around himself, a barricade to keep his sentiments and the yearning that never truly disappeared at bay.  
  
Jun grabbed the sides of Sho’s face and yanked Sho to him, covering Sho’s mouth with his own. It was everything he’d remembered—blistering heat that could incinerate him, turn him to cinders, but one he would never shy away from. He had missed this, denied himself of even thinking it might be possible to have it again. Sho opened his mouth at the first prod of Jun’s tongue and Jun swept in, wanting to taste everything, to find out if this Sho was the Sho he’d once known.  
  
His Sho-kun, after all these years.  
  
Somehow, despite Jun’s haze, he was able to guide them both to the bedroom, descending on top of Sho once the back of Sho’s knees hit the mattress. Jun kissed him quiet, kissed him repeatedly, taking it all for himself.  
  
He has always been selfish.  
  
Sho’s fingers fumbled for the buttons of his vest and he obliged, helping Sho along, maneuvering his shoulders to rid himself of his clothes. It took them some time but Jun kept himself distracted with Sho’s mouth, and soon he was able to discard his vest, tie, and dress shirt on the floor.  
  
“You’ve filled out,” Sho muttered, sounding impressed and immensely pleased as his hands roamed. His touch trailed and lingered, fingers ghosting over Jun’s necklace. “You still wear it.”  
  
Jun didn’t know what to say to that, so he settled for untying the knot of Sho’s obi and pushing Sho’s yukata off his shoulders. Doing so revealed more skin, and Jun pulled back from the tempting heat to run his hands over Sho’s exposed chest.  
  
“Where did you get this?” he asked, finding a scar close to Sho’s sternum he couldn’t remember seeing before. It wasn’t long, but the raised skin had to have been a big gaping wound before.  
  
“That night on the yacht,” Sho explained, planting light kisses on his jaw. “It was just a scratch.”  
  
It wasn’t, and Jun knew it had to have been a slash Sho had undoubtedly bled from.  
  
He shoved Sho flat on the bed and began kissing every scar he could find. The one from the bullet that had missed his liver. The one sitting near his breastbone. There was another in the space between his ribs, and Jun ran his lips over it, kissing, tasting, letting his tongue be familiar with the feel of rough skin.  
  
Jun pulled away to grab what he needed from the nightstand, and when he came back, Sho was leaning on his elbows and eyeing him.  
  
“Were there others?” Sho asked, and Jun detected the hint of jealousy in his tone.  
  
“Yes, but none I can remember and none worth going back to,” Jun admitted. He’d had a couple of bedwarmers when it became evident that Sho had vanished from his life, each of them trying to convince him that they had been there for him. That they had been on Jun’s side out of affection and concern. It had worked for a while, but once the thrill of orgasm had faded into nothingness, Jun’s emptiness had remained, an unaddressed longing for someone who was no longer there.  
  
No matter how hard he’d tried to pretend, none of them had made him feel as much as Sho had. None of them had that hold, that power over him.  
  
He shoved the lube in Sho’s hands, kissing away his pout. “Were there others?” he asked against Sho’s lips.  
  
“Some,” Sho answered, uncapping the lube and spreading it on his fingers. “But none were as memorable as you.” Sho pulled him close and kissed him, hard and insistent. “It’s been a while for us, so you have to remind me.”  
  
“Do it,” Jun ordered, pulling back, panting against Sho’s ear. “I want to see you do it.”  
  
Sho obliged, reaching between his legs. He didn’t look away from Jun when he inserted a finger in, biting his lip at the slight burn. Sho opened himself slowly, and Jun kept his hands on Sho’s thighs in order to see everything.  
  
Jun encouraged him, stroking the insides of his thighs as he slowly worked himself open, another finger eventually joining the other. Sho’s hips were bucking, and Jun got off the bed to remove his slacks and free himself.  
  
He returned and stretched across Sho’s body to find Sho’s mouth, taking all his quiet moans for himself. This is mine, he kept thinking, listening to the slick sounds of Sho fingering himself. This is all mine now.  
  
He pulled back and replaced his mouth with his thumb, unable to look away as Sho sucked on it hungrily, using it to silence his groans. Jun reached for the condom and quickly rolled it onto himself, slicking himself sloppily in his haste. He lined up, and Sho reached for his nape, pulling him back down for another kiss.  
  
Jun pushed in, his moan joining Sho’s, echoing together in the room. He could remember this. The warmth that threatened to put him on edge, the tightness that engulfed him. Lightning outside bathed the room in light for a moment, and a booming rumble of thunder echoed.  
  
Jun thought of storm gods and began moving, slowly at first and gradually increasing his pace. He kept Sho’s legs apart by grabbing his thighs, and Sho had no choice but to buck back and take it, Jun’s thrusts getting forceful by the moment.  
  
Sho made this choked groan and bit his lip, eyes squeezed shut. Jun let go of Sho’s legs to brace himself on his forearms, aligning his body with Sho’s and sending himself deeper. Sho clung onto his shoulders, meeting his movements halfway.  
  
They were in sync, lightning occasionally illuminating the room, giving Jun a glimpse of Sho’s flushed face. He was real. He was here, and he was moving with Jun, taking everything Jun had to give. He was solid underneath Jun, not a phantasm that a lonely mind had been prone to dreaming.  
  
Jun grasped Sho’s face to have Sho look at him.  
  
“Say it,” he groaned, feeling Sho clench around him. “Say it, say it.” He wanted to hear it, now that he was in this moment, now that he had Sho in his arms again. “Say it.”  
  
A sharp thrust and Sho arched, mouth parting in pleasure. “Jun,” Sho breathed, finally acquiescing. Jun wanted him to say it again so he sped up, the obscene sounds of him fucking Sho ringing in his ears along with the recurring thunder.  
  
Sho kept groaning his name, and he let his fingers tell his story, his wants, his desires, his emotions—the things he couldn’t say. A tight press of his fingertips around Sho’s wrists yielded haphazard patterns; Sho was the one who easily bruised. Jun trailed his hands down, down, and clutched, desperate but unable to say it.  
  
“I’m here,” Sho gasped, a reminder that pierced the silence. He had his fingers tangled with the chain of Jun’s necklace, pulling a little to grab Jun’s attention.  
  
Was Jun’s desperation so felt?  
  
Jun lifted his head from the crook of Sho’s neck, breath stilling.  
  
Sho looked him in the eye. “I’m here with you,” Sho whispered, and it sounded like relief. Like he found his way back after wandering and being lost and aimless for so long.  
  
“You said the same thing the last time,” Jun husked, lowering his head to hide how he felt. It had been on the same bed. Was this also the last time in a long time? Jun didn’t want to think of that, but the possibility was gnawing at him.  
  
Sho’s nails embedded themselves on his biceps before Sho gave in to another loud moan. What he said next made something snap in Jun, the world falling into place.  
  
“I never left.” Sho’s fingers traced across Jun’s brow. “I couldn’t.”  
  
It made Jun burn for him, the ache so raw and neglected after years of silence, but never, never leaving. Sho had left a void with his absence, one that Jun had never been able to fill.  
  
He should have known. Out of all those who loved him, Sho was his favorite. The only one he’d embraced and entertained.  
  
The only one he’d waited for despite him telling himself otherwise.  
  
Jun picked up pace, need taking over his body and overwhelming his senses. He tumbled over the edge not long after, burying himself deep and letting his mind blank out, the feeling of Sho with and around him the only thing he was aware of—Sho’s scent, Sho’s deep, ragged breaths next to his ear, Sho still clinging to him.  
  
When Jun could get his limbs to move, he pressed kisses all over Sho’s face, down his neck, his chest, nipping here and there. He strayed lower, past Sho’s navel and took Sho’s cock into his mouth without warning, planting his fingers on Sho’s thighs to keep them from jolting.  
  
Sho got one hand in Jun’s hair, spine curving. “Jun,” he warned, breath hitching.  
  
Jun pushed in two of his fingers inside Sho, who was still slick and loose, and crooked them.  
  
Sho’s grunt as he spilled himself inside Jun’s mouth was overshadowed by the roll of thunder, and it reminded Jun of the deity covering Sho’s back. It was still there, and Jun had caught glimpses of it back when he’d been stripping Sho bare.  
  
He slid up and collapsed on the space beside Sho, their breaths almost synchronous with one another. Sho instinctively curled against him, cheek resting right on Jun’s clavicle.  
  
“You have me,” Jun whispered, one arm roping around Sho’s shoulders to pull him closer. His heart rate remained erratic, and he wondered if Sho could feel it spike with his admission. “You’ve always had me.”  
  
“I had a feeling,” Sho admitted, dropping a soft kiss to his collarbone, just above the chain of his necklace. “I wouldn’t be back if a part of me didn’t hope for it.”  
  
“Where’s Ohno-san?” he asked, fingers already playing with Sho’s locks. It was Sho with him now. He hadn’t been able to touch Sho like this for so long, but it no longer mattered.  
  
It was Sho and he was here, sorely missed yet still achingly familiar despite the years.  
  
“Still working for me. Or at least, whatever work he can do for me.” Sho lifted his head a little. “Why?”  
  
“I think Nino would want to see him again.” Jun never found out what Nino had with Ohno, but he knew he wasn’t the only one affected by Sho’s disappearance. “Aiba too,” he added as an afterthought.  
  
Sho snorted. “What makes you think they haven’t seen each other already?”  
  
It sounded like something Ohno would do, given his sleuth. Jun smiled, finding that some things hadn’t changed.  
  
“May I stay?” Sho murmured after a while. It had lingered between them, the one question that had plagued their minds but neither had wanted to voice out, until Sho had done so.  
  
Jun wouldn’t have him anywhere else, but he had to settle things first. “On one condition,” he said. He felt Sho shift slightly, now closely breathing against the crook of his neck. Jun pulled back a little to meet Sho’s eyes. “No more secrets. If there’s something you’re thinking of doing, tell me. If you have a plan, let me know. If you’re leaving again—”  
  
“I’m not.” Sho shook his head. “Unless you want me to. I have nothing to hide from you anymore. I want to stay, if you’ll allow me.” Sho allowed himself a tiny smile. “If you’ll have me. If you’ll still have me.”  
  
Jun took a deep breath, a crack of lightning giving him a glimpse of his surroundings, of the unguarded expression on Sho’s face. “Any other secrets you want to tell me?”  
  
Sho chuckled against his skin, just as a rumbling roar of thunder echoed around them. “I still can’t operate a toaster that is of a different model.”  
  
Jun joined Sho in laughter, feeling something uncoil inside him, like hope blossoming in his heart. Maybe this time they could make it work. Maybe this was something Jun could finally have. There was no one else he loved as much as he did Sho.  
  
And no one else who loved him as much as Sho did.  
  
Together, perhaps they could figure things out.  
  
Jun reached blindly in the darkness to find Sho’s wrist, and he raised it so he could see if his name was still etched on Sho’s skin like Sho had told him.  
  
“You could’ve had this removed,” Jun said, staring at his own name. Lightning struck again, allowing Jun to see it more clearly. He ran his thumb over it. The skin was no longer reddened and the mark was not fresh, but it never faded, not even after three years.  
  
“It wouldn’t have made any difference.”  
  
Jun lifted the inside of Sho’s forearm to his lips, kissing the spot that Sho had marked especially for him.  
  
“You’re happy that it’s still there,” Sho mused.  
  
Outside, the storm continued its onslaught, turning their surroundings cold. But Jun didn’t move, wanted to stay exactly where he was.  
  
“No,” Jun denied, hiding his smile and kissing the tattoo once more. “Not at all.”  
  
\--  
  
On Jun’s desk, the tiny tree inside a jade pot gave way to its first flower, welcoming the arrival of spring.

**Author's Note:**

> The overall theme of this story was inspired by a quote from Renee Ahdieh ("It's a fitting punishment for a monster. To want something so much—to hold it in your arms—and know beyond a doubt that you will never deserve it") from her novel The Wrath and The Dawn, hence the title.
> 
> “Eyes indicate the antiquity of the soul” is a quote by Ralph Waldo Emerson. All That You Love Will Be Carried Away is a 2001 Stephen King short story included in his book Everything’s Eventual. The line about madness and storms was inspired by Mikhail Lermontov (“He in his madness prays for storms, and dreams that storms will bring him peace.”)
> 
> [This](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/564x/80/12/63/801263c4c5e504ff0a60e8baef9460ba.jpg) is the image of Raijin that I had in mind, only with the background being a mixture of white and blue.
> 
> Jun’s necklace is inspired by the Best Jewelry Wearer Award that he won back in 2014. [Here](http://data.whicdn.com/images/198894547/large.jpg) is a photo of that event.


End file.
